Darkenlock
by ink-and-song
Summary: Failure changed the course of history. Arrogance sealed their fate. With the aetheric field in ruins and Beritra's shadow looming over all, the only hope for the faithful lies in whispers of "Empyreans", ancient legends rumored to be strong enough to challenge the Balic Empire. But the higher you fly, the harder you fall. [No Archdaeva]
1. Prologue 1: Commencement

**_Commencement One: Harbinger_**

 _Idian Wars 1002-1028*, 1043-1064_

* * *

 ** _Spring 1064_**

 ** _Inggison_**

Lumiel watched from afar as the last remaining legions of daevas fled from Balaurea.

The teleports stopped working, she had heard. The aetheric field was too unstable. The earth was shaking, and the obelisks were crumbling. The _Griffoen_ was not ready yet; they needed more time.

 _He_ was down there.

She crouched in the shadows, watching Inggison from the clifftop in a manner more suitable for a lady of Death than a lady of Wisdom. The Asmodians needed to know how many Elyos were survivors, she told herself, if the Seraphim Lord was in fighting condition or not. She was surveillance, not action. The gathering of knowledge came first. Something in her heart throbbed- she would not interfere.

Drakan wings beat heavily in the aetherless sky as the injured daevas struggled to ready the airship. Two of the Dragon Lords, Meslamtaeda and Ahserion, slammed their enormous bodies into the rippling, dome-like shield encasing the fortress. Only one Aether generator was left; those that had been erected outside the fortress walls had been reduced to splinters.

From her vantage point, she could clearly see the small clusters of daevas sprinting in a hopeless charge for safety across what had been the Wild and Calmheart Groves. Without their illusions, the lush and sparkling gardens had reverted to a dry, barren wasteland, devoid of cover for the doomed Elyos and leaving them easy pickings for the Balaur. Her heart hardened, quashing any pangs of sorrow as she watched two battered guardians vaporized mere inches from safety.

They were at war. There was no place for sympathy on the battlefield.

Through the haze, she could just make out the shape of Kaisinel's enormous wings heaving in time with the Balaurs'. Both of his hands were extended ,powering and constantly repairing the force field as it strained under the Dragon Lords' relentless assault. Behind him, the _Griffoen_ creaked at it moorings while the ant-like daevas frantically readied the airship for flight. From a single glance, Lumiel could tell that they were too slow. The Lord of Illusion was still weakened from the Upheaval. He had barely enough energy to maintain his combat form, let alone a protective spell of such caliber. His shield wouldn't hold for much longer. The Balaur struck the barrier again.

Despite the burning hatred that churned at the thought of the traitorous Lord, intrigue and bewilderment pressed at Lumiel's mind with growing insistence. Something was off. This behavior- it wasn't like him; head-to-head defensive magic was never his specialty. She had enough experience fighting both alongside and against him to recognize his fighting style. Even when cornered, he was a mage and a creative one at that. No matter how weak he was, if there was no third option, he found a way to make one.

"What do you think you're doing…" she murmured almost silently, her eyes flitting across the scene as she tried to piece together the situation. He had to know it wouldn't work. Kaisinel was a fool, but he was an intelligent fool. It didn't make sense.

The dragons moved a few paces back and hung in the air, the cadenced wingbeats silent. Time itself seemed to slow to a crawl.

Then Ahserion lifted his great sapphire head, threw his jaw back, and _screamed_.

The unrelenting, high-pitched shriek sliced the thin air to ribbons. Lumiel jammed her hands over her ears and gasped as an explosion of white-hot pain cut through her head like a flaming maul driven through her skull. The taste of hot iron filled her mouth, dribbling down her chin and onto her chest, spotting the dust with red. Those nearest to the dragon lord collapsed in violent spasms, their thick red lifeblood pouring from their shattered eyes and ears before dissolving into aetherdust.

Dark haze pressed at the edge of her vision as her passive magic began to fail under the sonic lashing. Her claws flew to her throbbing head. The intense pressure of the balic wail suffocated all other thought, thrashing her mind without mercy. Lumiel inhaled sharply, eyes clenched shut against the grating scream. If she wanted to escape intact, she had to stop the attack-even if it meant using her powers and giving away her position. With trembling fingers, she reached for her spellbook.

As if Aion himself had answered her prayers, the massive dragon snapped his jaws shut with a click, swallowing the ghastly sound as quickly as it had began. Suddenly, the battlefield was deathly, eerily silent. Even the draconic underlings dared not move.

After several tense seconds, she lifted her head. The land was dotted with the corpses of fallen daevas, and in the center of it all were the Dragon Lords, glinting with arrogant malice. Inside the aether dome, Kaisinel's weak, erratic wingbeats were now barely able to keep him aloft. The ignorant fool turned his head subtly towards her hiding place. Brilliant blue eyes locked with molten gold.

In that single moment, two thousand years that he had spend shrouded in bitterness and hatred fell away, revealing beneath time and tragedy a man that Lumiel had tried for so long to forget. For the first time since the split in their peoples, the Shedim Lady glimpsed in him the shy young mage she had spent countless hours alongside in the libraries of Aion, before their world shattered and his blind, selfish yearning for peace drove them apart. A lump rose in Lumiel's throat; she swallowed it quickly and lifted her head in proud defiance. He, Yustiel, Ariel- they were but cowardly reminders of all the things that had been stolen from her and her people. Her loyalty was resolute. She would not interfere.

Meslamtaeda and Ahserion raised their wings, charging their final attack.

 _This is the price of your_ _naïveté, Kaisinel._

The corners of the Seraphim's lips twitched in a broken smile, nothing less than a perfect picture of surrender. Yet somehow in the tilt of his head and the steadiness of his gaze, Lumiel could sense an unmistakable note of triumph.

Her eyes narrowed. It was his end. The Lord of Illusions would fall in Inggison, and they both knew it.

Lumiel's eyes widened. She had made a mistake in coming here. Against her better judgement, she took a step towards the edge of the cliff, leaning forward enough to feel the edges of the dragon lords' massive energy vortex whipping across her cheeks.

Her lips moved nearly of their own accord, speaking the words they both knew. " _Reveal my presence,"_ she mouthed silently, " _and you get your vengeance."_

Then the surroundings melted away and the distance closed between them, leaving nothing but herself and the fool, staring into each other's soul. Like a giant wave, the past crashed over her. Overpowering emotions she had thought long dead rose to the surface, burdening her with feelings she had sworn to never touch again. Parchment and feathers soared through her memories, dozens upon thousands of scenes filled with equal parts warmth and pain, laced with recollections of that force that drew them so inexplicably together, and ultimately the laws that kept them apart. Their precious, final seconds stretched into minutes as if by Siel's intervention. Kaisinel's lips, softer and gentler than she had remembered, moved in silent response.

The Balic Lords raised their necks, revealing twin orbs of fire pulsing in their throats. Suddenly, Lumiel realized she wasn't ready to say goodbye.

With the snap of breaking glass, Kaisinel's shield shattered and crumbled into nothingness. As if in mockery of her sudden revelation, the Seraphim Lord dropped slowly from the sky, a lone speck of blue burning against the dragons' inferno. Meslamtaeda's piercing croon of victory arched overhead. Lumiel's eyes, stinging from the massive waves of force still rolling off the battlefield, were frozen wide.

It was over.

Her quavering knees crumpled beneath her and a dry, humorless laugh forced its way from her throat.

So many years, so many losses, so many betrayals and broken promises...and it was all over.

Just when she didn't want it to be.

 _You bloody idiot._ Her vision blurred. _You promised._

The balaur converged like starved karnifs, slamming the fallen lord with an onslaught of magic seals. Spell after spell flew mercilessly until Kaisinel's weak aether signature was scarcely distinguishable beneath the hundreds of enchantments. It was a show of dominance; she could feel that the seraphim's power was so depleted that even if bound by human means, escape would have been impossible.

The Illusion fortress was gone. The _Griffoen_ had been replaced with nothing but scorched earth and smoldering flames. It was as if the fleeing, beaten daevas that had been there mere moments before had never existed. Lumiel tore her gaze away from the scene below and forced herself to her feet. The battle was done; there was no reason for her to stay any longer. Strangled grief twisted like a ridged dagger in her chest. She swallowed it down.

 _Looks like you got your revenge after all._

* * *

*Upheaval (headcanon)


	2. Prologue 2: Notes

_7.8.1063_

 _Daeva's daily notes (not a diary)_

 _I wouldn't usually do this but someone has to write it all down, right? I mean, just in case things get bad. Which they won't, of course, Lady Ariel will protect us, but I can't shake this feeling._

 _A large group of Expeditionary Force Legionaries arrived at the airship dock today. They looked terrible, as if they had just come out of Pandaemonium. The Brigade Generals refuse to say anything about it. But something's not right up there. I can feel it._

* * *

 _2.1.1064_

 _Daeva's_ _daily_ _notes (NOT a diary)_

 _Not so daily, I guess. But I haven't had much time to sit and write stuff down. Maybe I'll be more dedicated. I'd completely forgotten this book existed, actually._

 _Time for updates then. The BG promoted me to Centurion, so I'm a lot busier now. The Asmodians have gone quiet. It's been months since I've seen one of their ugly hides around here._

 _Still nervous. Balaur are getting restless again. Sent a team of daevas to the Nute Warrens, haven't gotten back yet. Hoping for the best. -x_

* * *

 _4.1.1064_

 _Daeva's Notes_

 _I'm not even going to bother with the daily thing anymore. It's not going to happen._

 _Governer Fasimedes spoke in Sanctum today. Apparently things are really bad up in Balaurea. There are whispers of a new Dragon Lord, but the returning soldiers are under vows of secrecy and won't say anything. It's infuriating. If it's bad enough that everything has to be kept under wraps, it means it could cause panic, right?_

 _I'm probably overreacting. But there aren't any airships or teleports going to Inggison or Cyg-whatsit now. I was expecting a lot more daevas to return. The ones that did haven't recovered yet; from the looks on their faces, I don't want to know what they're been through. Also no sign of the warships or the Empyrean Lord. I'll keep my worries to myself. Ariel seems to have the situation under control._

 _Maybe I'll move to Verteron. I've heard the Tolbas is nice this time of year. No balaur to deal with over there._

* * *

 _6.4.1069_

 _Five years later, here I am again. Funny to re-read what I wrote in here so far. My handwriting's changed a lot, that's for sure._

 _So I did end up moving to Verteron. I deserted, actually. Last year. I threw down my sword and ran like a filthy coward. But I can't ever go back. Not now._

 _But I don't regret it. Somehow the balaur got through the aetheric field. Technicalities were never my thing, but I'm pretty sure it had something to do with that blasted ide._

 _One of the Cyngea veterans blabbed. Kaisinel is locked up somewhere in Inggison. They said he was protecting evacuees, but he lost and they all vanished anyway. Nezekan is trying to pick up the slack, but we've lost Theobomos to the Balaur already. Looks grim._

 _Aion save us all. -x_

* * *

 _5.2.1077_

 _Meslamtaeda's poisons are killing Elysea. There aren't many children left. Ariel and Azphel made some sort of agreement; five hundred humans are being moved to Altgard next week._

 _The land isn't farmable anymore. Maybe we can learn to eat Drana, it's the only thing that grows here now._

 _Still, I would rather die than live with the furbacks. Others think differently, apparently. Guess it's just a side effect of immortality._

 _Traders say that spies say that Lord Zikel had something to do with the truce, but it sounds like a load of garbage to me._

 _There's no point in praying to Aion, because Aion is dead._

 _Don't think even Ariel could help us now. -x_

* * *

 _7.7.1077_

 _It's been over a month now and still nobody has seen Lady Ariel._

* * *

 _2.10.1086_

 _Meslamtaeda's forces attacked Sanctum. I can feel the Balaur wingbeats over my hiding place. I shouldn't be writing, it's dangerous to even have a candle here, but I'm running out of kisks and I don't know how much longer I have. I keep writing in hopes that someone could use these notes someday. A balic historian? In that case, hello historian. Your ancestors hurt us very much. Aren't you proud?_

 _I'm sure you know about the victory your people experienced over mine. Our home was once a bright and beautiful place, filled with jesters and festivities and beautiful flora and fauna. But now thanks to you, it's all gone and I'm probably going to die soon, so you'll have to look elsewhere for the aftermath._

 _Lord Vaizel crumpled alongside the Elysium Spire. Nobody knows where Ariel went, but we know she's not coming back. Beritra personally announced Nezekan's defeat just this morning. Kaisinel's still in Inggison somewhere. Lady Yustiel is the only one left. It's only a matter of time until she's gone, too. You probably have the exact date recorded, as the day the Balaur triumphed over the Elyos once and for all. Write it in the margin, I'll leave a space for you._

 _This will probably be my last entry. If by some miracle the rest of the contents of this box survived, I ask that you please burn the incense in remembrance of our lost souls. Some healers say that it can help the dead find peace, and honestly, I'd do anything for some peace right now. There's a jar for it, too, and some flares. I think Sanctum would be a nice place. It was our capital, after all._

 _Do whatever you want with the rest. I won't be needing it._

 _-x_


	3. Ch 1: Gamblebane

_3019_

 _Altgard, Irkalla_

* * *

The sickly sweet scent of odella smoke hung in the dimly-lit air like fog, seeping into the walls and mingling with the fumes of cheap liquor that were permanently etched into the tables. The ceiling of the feeble stone building shook slightly as a massive spell was cast in the coliseum next door. The muffled roar of cheering masses followed immediately on its heels.

"This should be enough." Three hammered bronze coins were roughly shoved across the table with a hollow clink.

"Iskar," the gambler chuckled, leaning back without even touching the coins. "You know me and I know you, and we both know that's nowhere near enough."

Iskar scowled, drumming her claws on one bony hip impatiently. "Bloody shards it is. Don't mess with me, Lavi. I'm in a bad mood."  
He smiled. She'd seen more trustworthy smiles on worgs.

"That will buy you one question."

Iskar bit back a sharp retort, glancing briefly at the small black spots adorning the underside of her wrists. She wanted to live. The coin pouch dangled inside of her sleeve with painful lightness. She couldn't leave empty-handed.

"What can you tell me about the Giant's Orb?"

Lavi leaned forward, grin widening to reveal two rows of small, stained teeth. "Gambling in this place gets you all kinds of information. I can tell you lots. Who made it, who had it last, where it was last, whether it is useful to you...but all that comes with a price. Two more pieces and you get another question."

Her fingers twitched dangerously as she reached into her pouch and all but flung a pair of coins at his head. The gambler snatched them from the air with ease.

"This will do," he turned them over in his hands and added them to the small pile. "Go on."

"Is the Giant's Orb capable of curing aether rot?" she spat the words like an accusation rather than a question.

Lavi gathered the coins into his lap and started inspecting each one front and back before placing it on the table with a chink. Iskar's hands curled into fists as she waited for his answer.

"No," he said finally, with more teeth and tongue than was necessary. "But I can tell you something that might." The man slouched in his seat and placed his feet on the table, watching her out of the corner of one droopy red eye.

Iskar's claws twitched again, itching to tear out his greedy little tongue. Lavi Basilisk-mouth they called him. Along with Lavi Surefingers, Lavi Gamblebane, and Lavi Soon-Eviscerated. While the first three were fairly accurate, she felt that it was the third name that was dangerously close to being proven. Her jaw was clenched so strongly that bolts of pain shot through her gums.

"How much?"

Lavi counted on his fingers with deliberate, agonizing slowness. He ticked off one finger, then a second, then his whole hand.

"The dirt you're asking for is dan-ger-ous," he punctuated each syllable with spittle flying from his lips. "Good ol' 'Reshki has eyes and ears everywhere. If word gets out-" He drew a hand across his neck. "I'm a dead man."

"I'm dying, Lavi. Do I look like a snitch to you?"

"No," he chuckled. "But that's not my concern. See, I'm the kind of guy to tangle with...unfortunate types."

"Don't try to pull that one on me. You're the grandaddy of the bunch."

Laughter rumbled from his belly, loud and hollow. "You're a sharp girl, Iskar. But I'm also a grandaddy with debts. I can't afford to give away...high ticket information out of the kindness of my heart, if I want to keep it."  
"You have no heart."

"Don't you wish."  
"How," her eyes burned crimson. "Much."

"Oh…" he pretended to think. "I think fifteen pieces will loosen my tongue."

She gripped the edge of the table. Small ribbons of wood became wedged beneath her claws. " _You bastard_."

"Hey," Lavi raised his hands in mock surrender, a crooked grin splitting his face. "A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. Pay up or zilch."

She snarled, reaching into her pouch and slamming another five coins onto the table. Lavi raised an eyebrow, tsking.

"Stingy."

"That's two days worth of bread."

"Double it."

Another handful of money was thrust at him violently. He counted it, nodded grudgingly, and added the coins to his heap. "Alright. I'll talk." He swung his feet off the table, suddenly businesslike. "You call yourself a priest. Balic teachings?"  
"Naturally."  
"Garbage. I'm sure you've heard stories of the Empyreans."

"Get to the point, snake. I'm not paying you to lecture me in heretic folklore."

"You're paying me to talk," a thread of irritation weaved its way into his voice. "Here I am, talking. Now watch your tongue or I'll change my mind." He glared at Iskar. She scowled, but said nothing.

"That's better. Now, as I was saying. Last summer I won off a very old woman, a very old book. It was practically dust by the time I got it," he paused. "But enough of it was legible to get me thinking that those stories your momma told you might have a scratch of truth to them."

"So you think monsters like Zekiel and Kasniel actually existed. That doesn't help me."

"Don't get your mane in a knot. I'm getting there," he rolled his eyes. "One of the lesser-known Lords, Lady Yustiel, was said to have the power to bring people back from the brink of death and cure all illnesses. Not confirmed, of course. The Dragon Lords made sure to destroy nearly all records of these beings." His low voice dropped to a whisper and he leaned closer. "The heretics tell the stories a little differently than you and I, you know."

"How do I know you're not lying through your teeth?" She slipped her coin pouch back into her sleeve. The broker was silent for a moment.

"You can feel it in your gut, can't you?" he said at last. His face was so close that she could feel his stale breath on her skin. "That praying to Beritra is wrong."

It was the graveness of his voice that kept her unable to pull away, magnetizing her to his words like an entrapped lover.

"You're dangerous, Lavi."

"I think there's a little dangerous in all of us."

For several seconds, neither one of them moved. Finally, Iskar allowed herself a small chuckle, straightening. "If it means I live to thirty, I'll call myself anything. Take care, Gamblebane." She turned to leave, shooting a poisonous glance over her shoulder. "I'll be sure to rob your grave when I'm done."

The bronze coins disappeared into the folds of his jerkin. "Good luck with that, girlie. Pleasure doing business."

"Heh."

Her goal accomplished, Iskar navigated her way through the tables of gamblers towards the door. Bronze and occasionally silver coins swapped hands as risk-takers and speculators placed bets on the daevas fighting to the death in the adjacent coliseum. She sidestepped around them.

The air outside was frigid, as usual. Shivering, she pulled her thin tunic up to cover as much bare skin as possible, wishing for the umpteenth time that she hadn't traded away her only cloak for yet another false lead. As she began the long walk home, Lavi's words churned around and around in her head, aching with potential hope.

Her trip yielded more than she had thought, but the meager scrap of information had cost her; she would have to steal or ration her meals for the next week and a half at the very least. It was a pitiful hope, and probably a stupid move, but just as with all the others she couldn't help but feel a twinge of excitement. The familiar, foolish thought quickened her step and her heartbeat.

 _Maybe this was it._

She ducked between a pair of huts, letting her feet take charge while her mind wandered back to Lavi's advice. His reasoning, at least, was sound. She raised a wrist to eye level, running her eyes over the raised black speckles. Anyone with rot dies within three years of the first spots appearing. Survival was virtually unheard of.

She would change that.

Her hands curled into determined fists and fell back into position at her sides.

Aether rot was the result of crystallizing natural aether within the body. It made sense that an aetheric cure might work where balic remedies had failed. If this Yustiel could save her…she would do whatever was necessary to find her.

Iskar cursed, sending a puff of white breath into the icy air. _Empyreans_. They were names that virtually everyone knew _of,_ but also knew nothing about. They were just creatures used to frighten young children, straddling the line between myth and possibility. A little poem rose from the dregs of her memory. She hummed it to herself under her breath as she walked.

 _Azaphil, Azaphil, Lord of Night_

 _Please don't take my eyes_

 _Kasniel, Kasniel, Lord of Lies,_

 _Please don't take my mind_

 _Zekiel, Zekiel, King of Wrath_

 _Do leave my hands and feet_

 _Triniel, Triniel, Queen of Death_

 _Don't take me as I sleep_

A cold wind bit at her skin and she pulled her arms closer to her sides. The Aionists, she heard, portrayed them as benevolent beings in a vast contrast to their monstrous New Dragonbound counterparts, but any who spoke of it disappeared shortly after. She hadn't ever gotten the chance to ask about it, and hadn't ever really cared to. Eighty-thousand-year-old whatevers hadn't been very high on her list of "things to risk her life for".

She sighed and ran a hand through her short, silver hair. It was an extremely long shot in the dark, but she didn't have any more promising alternatives. On the bright side, she told herself, a hunt for an eighty-thousand-year-old-whatever that she hadn't ever heard of before was far better than a hunt for an eighty-thousand-year-old rock. And something with healing magic couldn't be all _that_ bad, could it? The dissidents could be onto something.

Lavi, she knew, wouldn't or couldn't tell her more; the broker was too careful. She was going to have to find a heretic and interrogate them herself. She sighed again.

Finding one wasn't hard; it was finding one alive that might pose a bit of a problem. And staying alive afterwards, of course, but she would cross that bridge when she came to it.

The landscape slowly changed from icy stone to trodden snow as she trekked away from the city towards her home in the Basfelt. The slow, rhythmic clanking of a routine balaur watch approaching drifted to her ears.

Iskar dropped to her knees without hesitation, placing her hands on either side of her head and planting her face in the snow. Heart racing, she knelt on the ground as the cold snow seeped into her clothes, waiting for the balaur patrol to pass by.

The footsteps grew louder with each stride until the crunch of metal on snow was right in her ear. It stopped. She didn't dare breathe. Her blasphemy made her blood race, pounding and roaring in her ears like a snowstorm.

 _Please move on...please, please move on..._

Paranoia made it impossible for her to calm herself, despite her sense screaming at her to stop shaking and sit still like an obedient subject. She clenched her eyes shut, attempting to appear a perfect picture of submission and slow her frantic heartbeat.

 _You're being stupid,_ she chided herself. _There's no way for them to know. A little fear is normal; everyone's scared of the patrols..._

She could feel the balaur's presence towering over her like an all-powerful giant, an unchallengeable authority over life and death she was eternally destined to tremble beneath. Then, in what seemed to her a miracle, the armor above her groaned and the balaur's footsteps marched away, slowly fading until they were swallowed by the sounds of the outskirts. Still quivering, it wasn't until a full thirty seconds had passed before she dared move.

Relief sent a grateful prayer from her lips. By the will of whatever force was out there, dragon or otherwise, she had been spared.

Then something hard cracked against the back of her head, and the world slid into nothingness.

* * *

*Update: Fixed time reference error. Story now begins in correct era


	4. Ch 2: Running Thief

When she came to, the first thing she noticed was the signature tingling sensation of a lousy healing spell buzzing like a gnat in the back of her head. The room swayed around her, and she squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the dizziness to pass. After several deep breaths, she blinked them open again. A sputtering orange lamp hung on the ceiling, swinging back and forth with a soft creaking. She wasn't dizzy, she realized. The room was moving.

Panic surged through her and she forced herself to breathe deeply. Her face was pressed against the ice-cold wooden floorboards, making it difficult to get her bearings. She could make out another form lying prone a short distance away. The room gave a nasty, jarring jolt, followed by an eruption of angry squawking from what she presumed to be the front of the wagon.

"Hey! You said you could drive!"

"I said I _would_ , I never said I _could_!" The second voice was male, like the first, but had a strange hissing quality to it.

"I'd thought it was safe to assume you could _handle a bloody tipolid!_ " The first voice rose to a strigik-like screech. A nearby carton of something toppled over with a crash as the covered cart made a hard right.

"Well we wouldn't have this problem if you hadn't shot the tamer!"

"Oh, blame it all on me now, won't you? I'm not the one who kidnapped a pair of drake lickers!" The voice rose to a high-pitched, whining mimicry. " _Oh,_ I thought it was _Tael_! Even though Tael's _pink_."

"How was I supposed to know? All you humans look the same!"

The two voices devolved into a cacophony of flying shrieks and accusations that brought to mind temptresses and hair pulling and sharp fingernails.

If she wasn't bound hand and foot, she would have found it almost laughable. Then the conversation turned dark.

"Listen, Scratch. Let me drive, and we'll find a place to dump your little mistake. We'll just have to find a way to keep the other one from talking, okay?"

A chill ran down her spine; she was suddenly aware of the noxious iron scent of blood burning into her nostrils. Hers or not, she didn't get the chance to find out before a pair of boots flooded her vision, followed by loud cursing. In one swift movement she was pulled up and shoved against the wagon's wall, a dagger pressed against her throat.

"Scream, and it's an arrow through your left eye. Beg, and it's an arrow through your right. Understood?"

She nodded, swallowing dryly. The pressure on her neck lifted and her captor stepped back, allowing Iskar a full view of her captor. It was the first speaker, the one without the hissing undertones.

Straight black hair hung just above jaw level, choppy and uneven as if it had been carelessly hacked off with a knife. Ashen-violet skin, a deeper hue than her own, was stretched across a stocky frame and a face gaunt with hunger. Her initial hopes-a human captor was better than a balaur-were crushed when her eyes fell upon the pendant at his chest: a small golden coin threaded on a leather cord. A mysterious symbol, like a lopsided circle with a tail, gleamed dully on the front. Her blood turned to ice in her veins.

"...flerp."

"Well we weren't planning on you getting up so early either. Not my fault Scratch can't even clobber someone right. You seem to recognize me. Face you know?" The man-just barely, she realized, though he was probably older than she was, jabbed her with a toe, having ditched the dagger at some point in favor of a crossbow which he kept leveled at her as he spoke. The almost joking tone he had used in his earlier conversation with "Scratch" was gone. Iskar felt the blood drain from her face, glancing nervously at the nocked arrow before meeting his eyes.

"You're the running thief. Everybody knows," she lifted her chin, fighting to keep the tremble out of her voice.

It was only a half lie. The infamous bandit and his ever-changing string of companions that terrorized the humans, drakan, and sapiens of the Altgard Citadel had eluded the Balic enforcers for years. His nickname was as well known as his prowess with the bow. His appearance, however...that information had been meticulously hidden from the public eye. Iskar wished her hands were free so she could facepalm herself for her stupidity.

The bandit didn't let her mistake slide. "You. You haven't ever even seen me. How do you recognize me?" Suspicious shadows flickered across his face. Even though the archer thief undoubtedly knew what he was doing, it seemed that a single slip from the rocketing wagon would send the arrow flying straight into her heart.

"I...ah…" her mind raced for an excuse. "Rumors?"

Months ago, Lavi had promised fifteen silver pieces to whoever got that pendant-a pendant which he said was constantly worn around the neck of the infamous outlaw. Iskar had snatched up the opportunity-if only for the money to buy more bogus cure-alls and healing salves. Obviously, nobody had been successful in obtaining the piece. Iskar herself had given up after only a few weeks of half-hearted baits, traps, and guesswork.

"Valik," Scratch's voice drifted down through the curtain separating the interior from the front of the cart. "The kid smells like books."

The thief turned and Iskar breathed again, grateful for the interruption. The cart had steadied and no longer seemed to be careening out of control. "I'll take care of him. Thanks, Scratch."

"Just don't throw me in the lake."

"No promises," Valik gave Iskar a sudden, meaningful glare. "That applies to you too, footlicker."

"Hey-!" she started, but quickly jammed her mouth shut. Valik _hmmph_ ed, satisfied, and moved to inspect the unconscious body she had seen earlier. He prodded it with his foot.

"It's no good; he's not up yet. Did you take the cube?"

"There was not much in it. The girl's had more."

Iskar cursed. Her cube-!

Surely enough, when she looked at her hip she could see that the pitiful seven-space device that had held her food and spare clothes was missing. Her eyes burned holes into the back of Valik's tikel fiber tunic. Of course they were going to take it. And if that was all she lost, well, she would just have to find a way to escape before they got any more bright ideas.

Valik pointed a split-clawed finger at his restrained captive. "Stay put."

"Obviously," she deadpanned. A hint of a smirk formed on the criminal's lips, and he disappeared behind the curtain. Faint sounds of hushed arguing resumed almost immediately.

The young human wasted no time in searching for a way to escape. Her eyes flitted from floor to ceiling to wall to corner. Finally, she settled on the prone form a short distance away. Quickly weighing her options and making her decision, she wriggled closer. His enemy was her enemy, after all, and she figured that the worst he could do was headbutt her if things went wrong.

At first, she assumed that the pool of scarlet around his head was from a head wound, but upon scooting closer (easier said than done), she realized to her relief that it was a shock of matted red hair. The distance between them wasn't far, but with both her hands and feet tied even the small amount of movement required to get within poking range had felt like travelling several kilometers.

The other captive looked to be younger than both herself and the running thief. Something about that thought made her stomach churn uneasily. It wasn't that he was a child; he looked to be in his late teens. High cheekbones poked out on either side of a thin, scabby nose framed by fine, stringy red hair. Burgundy splotched his cloth leggings like wine stains. She sensed a cloud of the same buzzing, low-quality healing magic clinging to it like smoke, not unlike the spell that still vibrated at the back of her skull.

Ah. So that was where the blood had come from.

She edged closer, studying his face for any kind of movement. There was none. She could hear the two thieves still arguing, faint snatches of hushed insults drifting through the curtain.

"Hey," she whispered, prodding the motionless body with a foot as best she could. It was a difficult stretch, one that strained the backs of her calves. She was rewarded when his eyes slowly fluttered open.

"What-"

" _Sssh_!" she hushed urgently. "Be quiet or they'll hear us."

"Who-," he tried to whip his head around, but his position prevented him from doing so. "Who are you?"

Iskar scowled in the direction of the thieves. "A fellow kidnappee. I got jumped while waiting for a balaur patrol."

"Mau archer. The arrow grazed my leg so I couldn't run away." He grimaced, craning to look at the stained cloth. "Then he hauled me off, yowling something about librarians."

"Librarians, huh?" She snorted. "Couldn't care less. I don't know about you, but escaping is my top priority right now. Listen, do you have something we could use to get out of here?"

"Ah-no." Irritation flashed across his face. "They took my cube and that was all I had. But what are you-,"

"Tall, clothie, long nose-you look like mage material. Can you do a fireball?"

He blinked, eyes flicking nervously to the curtain. "Um…"

"We don't have forever! Yes or no?"

Before he could answer, the curtain was yanked aside and the aforementioned Mau archer stomped out, ragged leather armor swinging with each irate step. The Mau hardly spared Iskar a glance, instead tramping straight past her towards the redhead. He squatted in front of the other captive. The subject of interest squirmed uncomfortably as the sapien leaned forward and sniffed deeply.

"Um….can I help you?"

The Mau jabbed him in the chest, clearly not one for idle conversation. "Where did you get the book smell?"

Iskar listened with half an ear, only mildly interested once it was clear the subject didn't concern her. The rest of her focus went to searching the room for potential weaponry. All she could see was crates and some sacks of provisions.

"I smell like books?" Pale blue eyes widened in confusion. The lamp could be useful, she thought, but it was unlikely that she would be able to reach it in time. She doubted she had the strength to overpower both archers. "But I-I haven't even touched a book. I don't-"

The Mau seized his jaw, silencing him instantly. "I did not ask that. The smell is at least three years old. Where were you three years ago?"

Her eyes lingered briefly on the fallen crate. The top had popped open but the box hadn't splintered, much to her disappointment.

"I...ah, shards, I don't _know_ -please don't kill me _please_ …."

The wagon lurched, jamming Iskar's teeth into each other violently. The taste of metal filled her mouth, followed by a sharp pain in her cheek. She wasn't the only one adversely affected by the jolt, as the Mau leapt up and began haranguing the driver for all he was worth.

"There is _no need_ for you to make the tipolids run so fast here! Are you trying to get us flipped?! And you said _I_ couldn't drive!"

Again the wagon bounced and another small crate crashed to the floor, sending a dozen half-rotted raydams rolling across the cart's wooden bottom. Again the box opened but did not split. Scratch cursed in some foreign tongue, and quickly disappeared behind the curtain once more, leaving the two captives alone.

When she was certain he wouldn't return immediately, Iskar kicked a piece of fruit at her newfound acquaintance. He twitched, startled, but then settled and turned his attention on her.

"I don't want to die," he blurted. Iskar sighed, resisting the temptation to try and rub her temples.

"Neither do I. But unless we find a way to get out of here, we don't have much of a choice, do we?"

He shook his head, paling. "Even if I could shoot a fireball, you would escape and I would either burn with the wagon or-not much better-get rescued by the thieves."

He was considering it; this was good. "I'm a priest. You'd escape with me and then I could heal you. 'Resh knows you need it."

A quick glance at his leg wound made him wince. "Yeah, I do."

Despite herself, she chuckled, eliciting a small glare from her companion. There was something about him that made her feel...safe. Protected. Like she could depend on him.

But depending on people had never gotten her anywhere.

"I've got an idea. If you can use a fireball to burn my hands free, I can untie us both. The resulting fire should be enough to cover our escape. Then I can heal your wounds, and we can both be on our way. Plan?"

"Yes," he said, though he looked anything but certain. "I can try. But won't it hurt you?"

"That doesn't matter," she snapped, unable to keep an impatient growl from her voice. "Just hurry up before our friends decide to get chummy again and come checking on us. By Beritra, book-boy, are you always so _dull_?"

"You're not very nice, are you?"

"It's one of my better qualities."

"Figures," he mumbled, voice straining as he rolled onto his shoulder. His back now facing her, he sucked in a breath, curling in pain. "This - _agh_ \- had better work."

"Trust me," she moved so that her bound wrists were near enough to absorb the blast. "I have no clue."

The air between them crackled with building energy. Stinging heat like a cold wind nipped at her cheeks. It felt less like fire and more like friction.

"I-," the boy gasped and the heat vanished, as if the air had been doused in icy water. "I can't."

Iskar swallowed a groan and a sharp insult. "Try again," she urged. "They're still arguing." Though it pained her to do so, she tried her best to make herself sound hopeful and encouraging. "You were almost there. All you need is a little more focus."

"Focus, right." The pressure began building again, slowly at first but quickly gaining speed as if the particles in the air were being supercharged and compressed around his hands. "Just...a little-,"

The pressure intensified and shifted. His breathing became labored as a slight wind picked up on the inside of the enclosed wagon. Iskar's mental warning flags sprang to attention. Something changed-she was so close that she could _feel_ the energy starting to slip out of his control. She had been born completely incapable of wielding mage-type skills, but she trusted her gut enough to know to listen when her intuition was trying to tell her something. And it was telling her that something about the spell was about to go _wrong_. Very, very badly.

"Hey, book boy, you might want to-"

"Oi! What do you think you're doing?!"

Boots thundered across the floor of the wagon, followed by the unmistakable slither of a blade being freed from its sheath.

"Scratch?! What's going on back there?"

The spell continued to grow in power and magnitude. Fireballs didn't have this much pre-cast, did they? It felt like the room was melting. There wasn't any time to move, to think, to do _anything_. She could feel the magic surging behind her, raging and writhing like a caged beast bulging out against its prison. Thin rivulets of sweat ran down her skin, carrying a week's worth of unwashed filth into her eyes. This wasn't the way it was supposed to go. She had to get the boy to stop. She had to-

"Shard-!" the Mau's blade clattered to the floor. "Valik! Stop the cart! _Valik stop the cart!"_

The floor jerked out from underneath them, slamming the mage's burning body into her with enough force to make her cry out. _By Drak_ , his skin was hot. Already she could feel burns forming-he wasn't just feverish; he was searingly, blisteringly hot. Gasping in pain, she tried to pull away. It was to no avail. The space was too cramped; her limbs were still bound. Even though it was pointless, she thrashed in a fruitless effort to put space between herself and the caster. The odd aura of safety was gone and everything about his magic, about that heat seemed _wrong wrong wrong_. An until-then absentee little voice in the back of her head reared its useless head. This was all her plan, it reminded her gleefully. Really should have thought it through more.

For once, Iskar had to agree. Not a moment later, a sharp bang punctured the hyper charged air around them and the wagon exploded.


	5. Ch 3: not all compasses point north

At first the only sensation she was aware of was that she couldn't breathe. The force of the blast had thrown her against the opposite wall, knocking the wind from her lungs. She braced on all fours, dimly aware of the warm blood that dripped almost calmly down her wrists. It took a moment for her to realize that she was free.

Her recovery was short lived as the cart careened dangerously, rattling along the path at the mercy of the terrified tipolids in front of it. She could hear the frightened thundering of their feet even over the loud clattering of the straining wheels.

As she became more aware of her surroundings, she shifted into high gear. Sucking in a breath, she waved a hand in front of her face to fan away a small amount of the thickening smoke. Without wasting any time, she pulled the ropes off her feet and tossed them aside. Her eyes swept across the interior of the small wagon. The mage had been flung to the side of the wagon opposite her. Carefully, she picked her way across the lurching floor. Bits of the cart glowed with red-hot embers, but by some miracle nothing had actually caught ablaze.

 _Some fireball_ , she thought, reaching up and using the top of the wagon as a stabilizer while she made a path towards the young caster. She could chalk the explosion up to inexperience, but she couldn't push away the unsettling feeling that something else had gone amiss. An involuntary shudder passed through her. She'd gotten hit by weak fireballs before. While a backfire like this was definitely plausible and the magic was undoubtedly the same, there was an unshakable feeling of _unnaturalness_ that left her knees trembling and her muscles turned to jelly. Or maybe that was just nerves. It was getting just as hard to tell as it was getting hard to see.

A piece of the beam she was clutching came away in her hands. Briefly losing her balance, she quickly regained her footing and tossed the charred lump aside. Her feet adjusted slightly to the floor's wild rocking and she moved with a little bit more confidence.

Both the Mau and the mage had been knocked unconscious, either by impact or the explosion itself. Iskar fought across the shuddering floor, eventually reaching the latter. With the other thief occupied with the runaway tipolids, Iskar was free to perform a brief scan for injuries then swiftly but prudently hoisted the limp caster onto her shoulder. Using the wall for support, she staggered to the back of the wagon.

The smoke from the smoldering cart continued to thicken, making breathing difficult and sight near impossible. With great relief she found the bolts that held the cart's exit shut. She flipped the metal bars back with one hand and the wooden doors crashed open, bouncing against their hinges with the cart's every jolt.

Beneath her, the ground rushed by in a blurred streak of white. The saliva dried in her mouth. Valik wouldn't stay out of the picture forever. She adjusted her hold on the weight over her shoulder.

And nearly tumbled off as the cart hit an icy patch, fishtailing harshly to the side. The doors swung wide, clanging loudly when one of them made contact with the side of the wagon. Smoke billowed out from the opening. A cough tore through her throat. She forced herself to pull her eyes away from the nauseating ground and focus on the road above.

 _Well, I've done dumber._

With a grunt, she heaved the mage off her shoulder and, wincing on his behalf, pitched him out of the wagon. Her own body followed shortly after. Her shoulder struck ground first and she bounced once, twice, then rolled a short distance before lack of momentum pulled her to a stop. Tipolid shrieks followed by a harrowing crash of wood against wood trickled weakly into her stunned consciousness. The priestess gulped in several deep breaths of air.

Robotically, she scanned her body for damage. Preliminary inspection turned up nothing serious. Her clouded focus shifted to her fellow escapee. Animal cries continued to drift into her ears, echoing fuzzily in her numbed head.

The mage lay facedown in the snow a ways back, still unconscious and looking worse for wear. The white ground beneath both of them was speckled with red. Dizzily, Iskar stood and stumbled to him, her priest instincts kicking in as she knelt by his side to assess the damage. Finding nothing life-threatening, she pulled him out of the path and onto the soft snow near the trees.

Aided by her clearing mind, her hands fluttered expertly over his body, seeking out and repairing various cuts and bruises as she found them. An inspection of his head revealed an egg-shaped lump forming where it had struck the wall. Deciding to leave it until she determined whether or not he had a concussion, she moved on to the most obvious wound. The thin cloth covering his lower leg boasted a sizable tear, a deep, clean gash peeking out beneath the shredded fabric.

It seemed that the healing spell already in place had, weak as it was, greatly slowed the bleeding and kept out any debris from the explosion. Iskar set to work, casting her own healing while silently wishing she had some of her poultices. The tissues resisted at first, but gradually knitted back together beneath her fingertips. Muscle, nerves, and blood vessels folded over each other, weaving together to form a sore but functioning organ. The final layer of skin fused, leaving only a faint raised mark as evidence that it had ever been ruptured. The priestess looked over her work, nodding to herself proudly. A more skilled healer might have been able to prevent scarring, but it was a minor and merely cosmetic flaw.

A wave of exhaustion hit her like a rogue pagati. Familiar nausea flip-flopped in her stomach and the strength seeped from her bones. Pinching the bridge of her nose as if the pain could ward away the lightheadedness, she let herself sink to the ground moments before her companion's eyes snapped open.

"Who are you?" he blurted. His soft eyes were stretched wide and his mouth hung open stupidly, like a fish. If not for her swiftly worsening headache, Iskar would have laughed.

" _Terrible._ "

Grimacing lips twitched in subtle annoyance. "Sorry."

"You'll be forgiven as soon as my everything stops hurting," she grunted, considering making the effort to stand again. She decided against it. "Name's Iskar."

"Ath." He blinked rapidly several times, examining his surroundings with disoriented, airon-like inconsistency. Mid-turn he froze, wide eyes widening even further as he fixated on something behind her. All too soon he bolted to his feet, carefully refusing to place weight onto his once-injured leg.

 _Ungrateful bat-!_ Exhaustion-fueled fury frothed beneath her skin. Maybe she was mean; maybe he hadn't been healed before. But she deserved at least recognition for her efforts-efforts that would leave her feeling flu-ridden for a week. "Well _excuse_ me if I'm not the best healer in the world. I guess I should have healed myself first." She thrust her her raw, bleeding underarms beneath his nose. "That was the _worst nyerkin_ fireball I've ever seen. And I've seen _scouts_ try. Thrice-drakblasted son of an Emp almost _blew my hands off!_ "

The young man looked like he had been slapped in the face. "I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to-,"

"To hurt anyone, I know." She closed her eyes, pressing her arms into her chest. "It did the job-hey! Where are you…"

The mage had limped past her while she was talking. Iskar followed his movement with her eyes and trailed off at the sight of the upturned wagon behind them. Smoke curled up from the wrecked wooden cart. The trapped tipolid kicked at its harness, wailing with desperation. Ath was already halfway to the smoldering wreckage when Iskar scrambled to her feet.

Two of the wheels had snapped off completely and lay buried in the snow. Splinters and beams littered the road. Large skid tracks cut through to the hard ice beneath the top layer of snow, ending where the wagon had flipped onto its side.

Knowing that the two men inside could suffocate if not helped, she and Ath silently set to work prying the loose door off the back of the wagon. The hinges had snapped upon impact and it came away easily. Iskar tossed it aside.

"You find the Mau. I'll free the tipolid and get the human out." A silent "I can't believe I'm doing this" echoed at the end of her words. Nevertheless, her companion nodded unquestioningly and the priest hurried to the front of the cart, leaving him to search the back.

The bulky gray animal thrashed in its restraints. Iskar approached it warily, mindful of its powerful feet and unpredictable movements.

"Sssh," she cooed awkwardly. Remembering the actions of the tamers, she held a hand out uncertainly as a gesture of peace. The tipolid would have none of it, and its struggling increased tenfold.

The tips of Valik's leather boots poked out of the curtained doorway behind the driver's bench. She couldn't reach him- not while she had to squeeze around the terrified beast. Its wide mouth gaped in a despairing waul. Again she tried to approach it, and again she was forced away by the deadly, flailing limbs. A gray, thick-skinned foot swiped the air only inches from her knee. She leapt back, narrowly escaping another injury.

Leaving the thief wasn't a preferable outcome, but risking her own life wasn't an option. The beast wasn't going to tire, and she lacked the experience to soothe it to where she could safely get near enough to free it from its harness. Harsh breaths blew out of its nostrils in rapid succession.

A shadow flicked into her peripheral. She launched into the air and landed in a defensive crouch facing the presence. Ath's startled, soot-covered face stared back at her. Feeling foolish, she relaxed into her familiar air of irritation.

"Don't sneak around like that."

"I'm sorry," he looked past her, not really listening. "The Mau's safe. It's not as bad as I thought it was. Nothing's burning." His gaze dropped to his feet guiltily.

Iskar nodded, relieved. "Good job." She gestured to the tipolid. "The archer is inside still. I can't get close enough to unharness the tipolid without getting kicked."

Ath's eyebrows furrowed as he watched the struggling animal. Thoughtful determination crossed his face, layered with an expression almost, but not quite remembrance. "Let me try."

"Do you think you can?" Despite the urgency of the situation, Iskar felt a spark of protectiveness. "I can't heal you again."

He moved towards the creature. "I'm pretty sure I've done this before."

With every second, the thief's chances of survival dropped. Knowing this, Iskar swallowed her thoughts and stepped aside. As long as she wasn't the one in danger, she had no right to stop him.

" _Hrrrrr…._ it's alright. Whoooah…"

Miraculously, the animal seemed to relax at the sound of Ath's voice. Its legs stilled from a whirlwind of pummeling hooves to the occasional indecisive pawing. Iskar couldn't help but feel awed. When he reached its side, he gently placed a hand on its skin. The beast's wild eyes paused, focusing on the human for a lingering moment. Still murmuring to it softly, he crouched beside it, stroking its hide gently. The tipolid huffed forcefully. Ath's hands worked their way down to the buckles on the front of the harness. His legs were bent, prepared to spring back at the slightest sign of panic.

He worked the first buckle off, slowly reaching for the second. The tipolid jerked when it felt the release of pressure. Ath waited for it to settle, then pried the second buckle free. Visible shudders racked across the animal's body. As it felt the second buckle undone, its tense muscles exploded into motion. The thick head snapped up. Quickly, Ath launched himself away as it scrambled free, the smaller leather straps breaking as it charged forward. The broken harness landed in the snow, empty. The lumbering animal galloped down the road and out of sight.

Without waiting an instant longer, Iskar leapt over the harness and seized the ankles of the boots with both hands. She yanked the motionless thief away from the smoke filled wagon with a mighty heave. Ath hurried to her aid, and together they moved him into the clean air and laid him down in the snow.

Shallow breaths plumed from the archer's mouth like steam. Iskar sat back. "He's alive. Wasn't all for nothing." She turned to face Ath, only to find the spot that the mage had been occupying was empty. Twisting to face backwards, she saw that he had parked himself a good fifteen feet away, rubbing his leg and eyeing the thief distrustfully.

"I want to be far away when he wakes up," he supplied at her inquisitive eyebrow.

Iskar shrugged and unashamedly dug her hands into the thief's pockets. She felt for the flat, palm-sized box that was her cube, sighing disappointedly when her search turned up only a few loose coins and a small knife. A more thorough frisking produced some thin rope, a journal, a handful of dried fish. She stuffed as much as she could into her own meager pockets. The journal she returned, having no use for it, the rearranged his clothing and prepared to leave.

As she withdrew her hands, her fingertips brushed lightly against cold metal. They closed around a small, flat disk. Following the pendant's leather cord with her eyes, she plucked it from his neck and carefully eased it off his head. The charm on the end fell comfortably into the palm of her hand. Its worn golden surface gleamed faintly in the light, the circular symbol faded but clearly visible. She held the cord between her thumb and forefinger, letting the coin spin lazily at eye level, glinting like a tiny, rusted star.

She smirked. "And suddenly, everything went right." With a sly, victorious smile, she snapped up the coin in her hand and put the cord over her neck, then tucked the pendant into her tunic for safekeeping.

"Iskar?" Ath's hesitant voice interrupted her celebration. She finished straightening the necklace and stood, tramping through the snow to where he waited.

"Here," she reached into her pocket and thrust a few pieces of fish into his hands. "Have some fish."

He blinked. "Um, thanks. I was hungry?"

"Tch." Iskar stuffed a piece into her mouth and champed on it viciously. "You're a skeleton."

"I appreciate the moral support," he deadpanned. Nevertheless, he bit into a strip of fish and gulped it down appreciatively. "Where are you going now?"

The priestess shrugged. "Back to the fortress. Nyerkers took me in the opposite direction of where I needed to go. And that's home, where I will take the longest, most needed nap in all of Balic Atreia." Even as she said it, she felt the energy granted by her brief adrenaline rush draining from her limbs. "I haven't used that much power since a patrol tried to take my arm off."

Ath munched on his fish with a guilty expression. Iskar ignored him and marched somewhat unsteadily down the slick, icy road back towards the fortress. She didn't last long before tripping and pitching forward. A sharp jerk on the back of her tunic pulled her to her feet before she hit the ground.

"I'm headed that way too. Let me help you. It's the least I can do."

Great. He had a hero complex. Iskar flicked his hand off her shoulder and pushed him away. "No thanks. You helped me, I helped you. Trade complete. I am going this way and even if you are also going this way, you and I no longer have any association with each other. Understand?"

"But-"

"You might smell like books, but you sure aren't very smart. You seem like a nice person and I'm sure that you are. Get up in the morning, say your prayers, join in praise, and then work or scavenge until evening when the enforcers come for tributes. An upstanding tier two citizen like you doesn't need to associate with a person like me. And I don't need a person like you dragging me down." She crossed her arms against her stomach and dug her claws into the tunic's rough fabric. "I have things to do. Places to be. People to find. I can't do that with some soft-hearted clothie following me around like a lost wuf."

He stood for a while with his mouth open, trying to formulate a response. "But-you're hurt!"

"Just go home, Ath," she replied wearily. She forced herself to stand up straighter and pick up her numb feet as she walked. "You're being a pain."

For some time, the mage didn't answer. Iskar took his silence as a blessing and trudged down the road, determinedly putting one foot in front of the other even when it felt like her hole-filled boots were glued to the icy surface.

She managed to get a fair distance before he spoke up again.

"Your mane is thin."

"What?!" she spun and glared at him, taking offense. "I don't care how clueless you are-that's no way to to talk to a lady. Would _you_ like to have elly?"

"Sorry," he moved away from her, wide eyed. "I just meant you were probably cold."

Iskar rolled her eyes, still miffed. "There are more delicate ways you could have said that. I'm fine."

There were another few seconds of beautiful silence, and then he opened his mouth again.

"What's elly?"

Iskar scowled and folded her arms across her chest. "It's the blood of a people who fell from the sky," she recited, her tone softening. "My mother told me about them. They lived long ago in a place without snow and their daevas had white feathers. Even though they were maneless, they were said to possess unparalleled beauty. As punishment for their weakness and vanity, their descendants were cursed with thin manes and dull claws, and their race was lost to time."

He blinked, as if startled by this foreign concept. "No manes, huh? That doesn't sound very beautiful to me. Like...having no eyebrows, or something."

Iskar chuckled. "That's what I thought. But I guess I haven't ever seen one. They all either died or turned into us. Apparently great-great-great-great-grandpappy was a quarter and the genes have stuck ever since. It's more of a joke than anything else, really. I'm not a historian, so I wouldn't really know," she shrugged. "There's no reason to risk my hide by dabbling in the forbidden knowledges for some silly myth."

Ath nodded in wordless agreement. Iskar smiled wryly to herself, thinking of the irony of her statement. She wasn't about to bring up her decision to go on a wild Empyrean-goose chase with someone she barely knew. Staying alive seemed like a requirement for finding a nigh-invincible war goddess, after all.

Ath, thankfully, seemed to accept this as the end of the discussion. Iskar sighed. Her breath misted in the air like dragon's fire.

When a light pressure settled on her shoulders, she nearly took his head off.  
"Just what do you think you're doing?! Get your hands off of me, you per-," her words jerked to a halt in mid-sentence. Her hand stopped inches from his face. "You," her eyes dropped to the cloth draped over her shoulders. "...oh."

"Am...I allowed to live now?" he kept one fearful eye on her, frozen in mid-flinch.

"...yeah." Her hand fell and came to rest against her ribcage. The mage relaxed. He didn't offer any comment on the incident, and they once again walked in silence. Iskar kept her eyes on the ground in front of her. She made no move to the warm cloth resting on her shoulders. The icy granular crunched beneath their feet, the only sound in the eerily quiet forest as they headed back towards to fortress. It wasn't quite a comfortable silence, but it was with no small amount of smugness that Iskar noticed that Ath was putting full weight on his healed leg.

Eventually the snow-covered trees thinned, and the tunnel leading to the ice lake came into sight. Iskar's mood brightened. The pendant drummed against her chest, vibrating with promises soon to be fulfilled. With that kind of money...all the day's misfortunes would be paid for ten times over. The reward money felt close enough to taste.

She could do a lot with fifteen silver coins. Bribe a heretic, for one. And buy a new pair of shoes. And food, enough salted meats to last for an entire month. The possibility turned over pleasantly in her mind like a methu rotisserie. And here she had been, planning to go for a week on scavenged scraps.

Her hope wanted so desperately to settle. Maybe Lavi didn't have the money; despite his notoriety, the self-proclaimed king of darts was far from debtless. Still, she had witnessed firsthand how desperate he was to get his hands on the medallion. If she dangled it in front of his nose, the chink would appear. Excitement trilled through her like a birdsong. The fortress, which once held a future empty and devoid of anything but survival, lay just up ahead, now brimming with all its hidden possibilities. She could get a new cube, and a new cloak. She could even buy a lexicon and learn how to read.

That particular thought brought her back down to reality. The extra bounce in her step flattened. She had been getting ahead of herself.

As they emerged from the frozen tunnel, the sounds of their footsteps were gradually accompanied by the rattle of carts and snorting livestock. Ice fishermen sat at holes cut into the frozen lake, waiting with hunched, tired backs for a catch. Drakan cast shadows overhead, their wings giving them quick and easy access to the fortress. Occasionally one would screech and dive at the humans as they trudged towards the spiked barriers of the city, gleefully asserting their dominance over the earthbound race. Iskar dropped her head, scowling to herself. It was a game they liked to play, indiscriminate of age or gender. It reminded humans what their job was, where their place was and always would remain. Whenever something went wrong in Altgard, the humans were invariably singled out from the other sapien races and held accountable. It was a routine that had been so ingrained that the injustice of it felt muted, the kind of pain that only children felt.

The prospect of heresy, not simple infractions and illegal dealings but full-blown, undeniable _heresy_ ….it was darkly, thrillingly enticing. A chase for life, one that would bring her closer to death than any had before.

That, she figured, was the beauty of having nothing left to lose.

They passed through the fortress gates without incident, and Iskar stopped to face her companion the moment they stepped into the relative safety and comfort of the city. Scavengers banding together wasn't unheard of and he seemed nice enough, but he wasn't like her. Plus, she knew next to nothing about him. No matter how clingy or heroic (or manipulative, an inner voice added), her newfound friend would have to go.

"This is where we part ways," she announced. She took the cloth off her shoulders and held it in front of his face, a motion that left little room for argument. He blinked, going cross-eyed as he tried to focus on the object that was suddenly much too close. Iskar took advantage of his confusion and threw it over his head and stuffed his hands full of fish without giving him time to react. As he stood dumbfounded, she slipped into the shadows of the stone buildings, leaving Ath standing in the street like a fish-laden fool until he figured out what to do with himself. The distraction worked, as several minutes later she was able to stroll to the enormous stone and metal cage that called itself the Coliseum. The day's battles were drawing to a close, and mau, humans, shugos, and even the occasional skurv all were making their way home, some jingling coin pouches and others looking at their empty sacks, disappointed. The comforting sound of idle post-game chatter soothed Iskar's ears, drawing her into the lull of the familiar routine. She weaved to the side to keep out of sight of a balaur enforcer, head lowered and steps brisk.

The pendant hummed against her skin, seemingly conveying her buzzing excitement. She'd survived an encounter with the running thief, Ath was out of the way, she finally had a decent lead, and she was about to become filthy rich.

Admittedly "decent" was maybe not the most accurate description, but it was a far cry from some of her more desperate attempts. Her fingers brushed against the cord.

Beritra might not answer her prayers, but maybe Yustiel would.


	6. Ch 4: Candles Burn Brightest

_3019_

 _Morheim, Irkalla_

On the outside, it looked like any ordinary weathered stone building. A thick layer of translucent ice encased the cracked gray walls, texturing the carved rock with a certain foreboding beauty. If the ice ever were to melt, the Fregionic structure would undoubtedly crumble into a heap of loose bricks. But the ice never thawed, and the ancient walls stood tall and desolate, frozen in time as a monument of a bygone era.

The natural buzz of the skim aetheric field was absent around the building, giving the air a colder, unnaturally silent quality. The building's sole inhabitant, a maddened old husk of a woman, had long ago disappeared within its doors, never to emerge. The heretics had whispered that a she was a daeva, an immortal secret-keeper who spoke in forgotten tongues and witnessed the Great Cataclysm with her very own eyes. A balic investigation had brought their hopes crashing down. There was absolutely no aether there. There were no daevas.

A young woman slipped along the frosted, overgrown footpath leading to the house and past a pair of cracked, long-cold lanterns. They, like everything else, had past their time and fallen into disuse. Her steps quickened, and her small, delicate hands grasped a bundle of scrolls tucked beneath her dark cloak. Small clouds of curling breath rose before her face as she mumbled a few words, pushed the door open, and disappeared into the dark room behind. The door creaked shut after her, appearing as though it had never been disturbed.

Without the warmth of a constant fire, the cold had slithered into the house, coating the whole interior with a thin sheet of ice. Even in total darkness the woman stepped expertly over the slick floor, adjusting her pace when necessary and sidestepping around frozen, untouched furniture without a thought.

She stopped before a tall, wide bookshelf when she reached the far wall. From her cloak she pulled a small glass lamp, which she lifted into the air. She murmured softly, and the lamp flooded with light, bathing the area around it with a soft yellow glow. Tiny stars of light bounced off the frozen surface of the bookshelf. She held the lamp up to the middle shelf, tapped the frigid spine of a book with a single claw and stepped back.

The click of gears and levers whirred somewhere out of sight, and with a crack the ice around the base split as unseen forces hauled the bookshelf to the side. The lamp illuminated the edge of a gaping blackness neatly cut into the space hidden beneath the heavy shelf. She readjusted her hold on the scrolls and carefully let herself down into the dark maw. When her feet landed nimbly on the floor below, the bookshelf slid into place once again with a resounding thump. Ice spiderwebbed overhead, crystallizing back into place as if nothing had ever changed.

She held the lamp up high, letting the light pierce through the thick blackness. The rough, earthen walls were puckered with shadows, constantly shifting as she walked down the underground corridor. The low ceiling meant that she had to hunch over, even with her petite frame. As the ground gradually sloped downwards, she was able to straighten.

Eventually, the air grew less constricted as the tunnel opened up to a large, cavernous room. Crisp, fresh air funneled through a tiny slat high above her head, and small spots of light danced on the floor below.

She slipped the lamp onto a hook near her ear. The moment it had settled on the cold metal, nearly a dozen orbs of light flickered to life in quick succession. They were placed at regular intervals along the wall, illuminating the circular room with their bright white glow. She removed her cloak and hung it on the stone-lined wall as the room slowly warmed up.

"Alchetopin, aether readings."

" _Bzzt! Aether readings! North shell positive! Natural field as follows: Altgard- 15%. Morheim- 7%. Brusthonin- 11%. Pernon- 3%. Pandaemonium- 2%. Beluslan- 9%. Ishalgen- 2%. Fluctuation rates average. No notable decreases. Temporary field stability determined. Bzzt!"_

"Abyss?" She unloaded her bundle of scrolls onto one of the many tables occupying the room. They nearly didn't fit amongst the all the clutter, but she somehow managed to heap them onto the only bare patch of surface without letting a single one touch the floor.

" _624%! Voop! Fluctuation rates average. No notable increases. Temporary field stability determined! Brrt!"_

A soft clattering, clicking, and whirring accompanied her robotic companion as it rolled dutifully out from behind an overflowing heap of scrap metal and discarded parts. " _Additional assistance required? Query: Yes/No."_

"Report aether readings, Balaurea."

" _Insufficient range! Brrt! Bzz! Readings unavailable!"_

She knelt beside the small robot and adjusted a few dials on its front. "Try now."

Alchetopin whirred as bronze panels shifted aside to reveal a long, thin appendage with a flat, saucer-shaped attachment on the end. It pointed the saucer at the ground and rolled in circles, adjusting the saucer every now and then with a click.

" _Bzzt! Incomplete readings. North shell exterior negative. Natural field as follows: Kaldor- 0%. Levinshor- 0%. Enshar- 0%. Cygnea- 0%. Silentera Canyon- 0%. Gelkmaros- 0.5%. Inggison- 2%. Anomaly detected-beep! Insufficient data. Idian Depths- 0%. Fluctuation rates average. Notable increases: Inggison- 0.0027%. Notable decreases: Inggison- 0.0029%. Anomaly. Location: Undirborg vicinity. 0.0002% aether unaccounted for. Additional scans recommended. Inconclusive data. Vrrr!"_

"That's good enough, Al. Chart the numbers and then you can take a rest."

The machine withdrew its scanner and rolled to a second table, where it set to work dutifully punching numbers and values onto a piece of paper. The gentle clacking and cranking of its joints quickly faded into pleasant background noise. She allowed herself to be lulled into a calm, and let the musty scent of books and old paper sink in like a warm cup of tea.

Satisfied with the aether readings, she turned her attention to one of the several large contraptions perched on the tables. A complex design was pinned to the wall behind it, with several pages of notes flanking it on either side. The device itself was nearly as wide as she was tall-a gigantic, impossibly heavy mass of hulking metal designed for one purpose and one purpose only. It was almost complete. She snatched a sheet of notes off the wall and scoured them furiously, mentally recalculating every equation, following the design and theory smoothly until she smashed into a chink in the armor, a gaping, unforeseen flaw that made it all come crashing down. It was so tiny-so insignificant. It shot out of the ground to assault her like a laupede, ugly, small, and utterly unexpected. She had been so concerned with the ide's compatibility with the aether that she had let this one complication slip past her, like a crynac in the grass, and now…

Her claws sunk deep into the wood of the table, creating gouges that joined dozens of others made during previous nights spent puzzling over the inexplicable, lethal flaw. For the hundredth time, her tired gaze drifted to a row of unlit lanterns on the wall before her.

There were twelve in all, positioned so that the light from the orbs would barely reach them. Only one was lit-the others sat cold and dark. Four of them would remain that way; the others...she pushed her chair back and walked to where they hung, eyes roving over them with a desperate kind of loss. She could only hope.

"Why?" She rested her forehead wearily on the wall beside them. "Why won't it work?"

The silent lanterns gave no answer, but she wasn't expecting one anyway.

"I was so close," her voice cracked. "Lady Siel, why? It should work! I did everything right. The calculations, the formulas, the conversions, the scaling...everything is correct, so why?"

Why. How. What. Questions she always asked, and never seemed to get answered.

" _Brrt! Bzzt! Insufficient data."_

She closed her eyes and leaned into the coolness of the wall, ignoring the stickiness crusting on her cheeks. "Not now, Alchetopin. I said you were finished with that."

" _Acquisition of additional data recommended. Anomaly detected: Inggison. Anomaly detected: Pandaemonium. Further investigation? Query: Yes/No."_

She straightened in surprise, turning to face the little robot with wide eyes. Pandaemonium had just been reported as normal. "What?"

" _Insufficient data. Acquisition of additional data recommended. Anomaly detected: Inggison. Anomaly detected: Pandaemonium. Further investigation? Query: Yes/No."_

"Query: Yes. Aether readings, Pandaemonium. Analysis."

Alchetopin rolled in a small arc, beeped once, and turned its bright, bulb-like optics on her. " _2%! Fluctuation rates average. No notable increases. Temporary field stability determined! Brrt! Analysis: Aether drain halted. North tower stabilized. South tower stabilized. Natural aether levels below 100%. Flight impossible. Spells tier five and above impossible."_

That didn't match up. She stepped around the table and knelt in front of her assistant. "What anomalies are you talking about? You just said there was nothing in Pandaemonium."

Instead of answering her, Alchetopin rolled over to the table bearing the prototype. It extended its scanner over her notes, clicked it there for a few moments, then retracted its arm and stared at her.

" _Insufficient data. Anomaly detected: Inggison. Anomaly detected: Pandaemonium. Possible source of additional data determined. Vrrt! Further investigation? Query: Yes/No."_

Her curiosity died, crushed beneath a thick, heavy weight like a pinched flame. She turned away from the robot, downcast.

"No, Alchetopin. I can't get information from them. But thank you for trying to help." The robot rolled out of her way as she slumped into her chair again, rubbing her forehead. Her notes felt empty. The useless scribbles stared up at her, reminding her about the failure of the useless machine she had built. She pushed them aside.

There were other things to do. The scrolls she had brought in sat in their pile, waiting to be read. She shoved all thought of the weapon prototype from her mind and moved to sit in front of the scrolls, beginning the long process of numbering, labeling, and making notes on their contents. She unrolled the first one, shook the dust out, and began reading.

 _Minor thrall rebellion in the drana fields. It was easily suppressed by the Mighty Chramati. Experiments set back several weeks, request delay on further experimentation in Verteron until existence of free will in test subjects is thoroughly investigated. Below is a proposed list of alternative test subjects, should the kobolds prove to be too troublesome…_

Her thoughts drifted back to Alchetopin's anomalies. Against her wishes, scroll sorting seemed less and less appealing. It took her several minutes to realize that she was reading the same paragraph over and over again. Despite all her efforts to concentrate, she couldn't, and the anomalies wormed their way into her mind time and time again.

Enough was enough. Abandoning all logic, she thrust the stolen report aside and switched over to a desk piled high with diagrams, drawings, and observations. The robot might be onto something. Lord Marchutan, the Pandaemonium anomaly, was out of the question. His prison was too well guarded, and located right in the heart of Ereshkigal's capitol. Even if he possessed the knowledge she needed, an attempted break out would be suicide.

The other anomaly, on the other hand…

She knew she was crazy. She had been over this plan a hundred dozen times before. She'd deemed it impossible, insane. Now she pulled out the stiff parchment detailing her idea and spread it on the table, going over its intricacies and details once again. It was impossible for someone like her, but it wasn't as impossible as breaking into the capitol. She still had so many questions. And if anyone knew the secrets of the ide better than her, well…

A broken obelisk across the room caught her eye, and inspiration struck her like call lightning.

She would need a proxy team.

* * *

 _3019_

 _Altgard, Irkalla_

"What do you mean, he's not here?!" Iskar slammed her hands on the rickety table. The poor piece of furniture groaned under the force of her attack, dangerously close to breaking. The sassy, scantily-clad, and very _pink_ girl before her rolled her eyes, smacking loudly on a wad of odella. The sound somehow carried over the din of the gambler's den, grating against Iskar's ears and greatly diminishing her already scarce patience.

"I don't mean he isn't here. Mean he's _dead_."

She slurred horribly. Half her words ended up reduced to a nasal buzz that slid past her tongue like thick syrup. Iskar wanted to cut the organ out of her mouth and force her to eat it.

"Dead?! How could he be dead? I will not _allow_ him to be dead!" She struck the table again with a fist. The entire surface wobbled and the legs creaked in protest. "He was _just here_. I'll go dig up his grave if I have to! And if you're lying I'll be sure to bury you when I fill it back in!" Ignoring the fact that her threat didn't make any sense, she discreetly tipped the small blade she had lifted off the thief into her hand. "One more time, Pinkface. Where. Is. Lavi."

The roseate girl shifted her position almost imperceptibly. Iskar stiffened. The young woman had seen her arm herself, no matter how subtle Iskar had been. The pinkette's lazy, disinterested movements shifted, becoming calculated and deliberate. After studying her posture for a moment, Iskar realized that without so much as a hint of alarm or tension, the other girl had placed her body in a position to react to any move Iskar might make. There was no warning glint in her cornflower blue eyes, no variation in her idiotic coastal accent. But she knew what she was doing. And Iskar got the feeling she knew a lot more than she was letting on.

"Told you. He's dead." She rolled the odella around in her mouth, over her teeth and around her gums, and spat it onto a saucer at her elbow. "Said somethin' he shouldn't've. The Balaur plucked him up and hauled him off. You know how they do. Skip the prison and head straight for the penalty," she popped another stalk of odella into her cheek. "'Course, he wasn't special enough for prison. You've gotta _really_ tick off Lady Reshki to land in there. Good thing, too. Nobody deserves prison."

"Ereshkigal can go lay eggs for all I care," Iskar's eyes flashed red despite the hair that was standing up on the back of her neck. "I want to see a body."

"Nobody ain't never seen no body," the girl grinned cheekily, flashing teeth, and the whole conversation felt infuriatingly, hauntingly familiar.

"Stop messing with me." Iskar's dark scowl was enough to make several people near them flinch. Pinkface, on the other hand, was almost chillingly unaffected. She simply continued to chew and fiddle with a lock of hair with mild disinterest, watching Iskar with a catlike satisfaction.

"What makes you think I'm messing with you? I say he's dead, that means I know he's dead. Seen it with my own two eyes." She pulled the skin away from the bottom of her left eye. "This one saw them grab him," she pulled down her right eyelid. "And this one saw them take him off. You don't wanna believe me, that's fine. But you won't see him." She squinted at Iskar, tilting her head slightly. "Whaddya want with him anyway?"

"Nothing you need to know." Iskar's fingers wrapped around the knife handle, muscles tensing. "Especially because I don't trust a word you say. I saw him just a few hours ago. He can't just up and die-not now. I think you're lying."

Spit. Chew. "Whatever you gotta talk to him about-that's important, in't it?"

"Maybe he owes me money and I want revenge."

A portion of pink hair on either side of her head had been sectioned off and fastened near the end with a spherical wooden bead. She put one of these wooden bobbles in her mouth and sucked on it contemplatively.

"Well too bad for you, 'cause he's deader than the daevic uprisings," she shrugged. Iskar shifted in her chair awkwardly. The girl was eyeing her in a way that made her feel uncomfortable. She had the unsettling feeling that she was being scoped out, judged. The searching blue gaze travelled calmly up her body, lingered on her neck for a wavering moment, and finally came to rest on her face. The girl leaned back and smirked lazily around the bobble at her lips, as if by merely looking at her she had attained some sort of victory. "You know," she said, taking on the unmistakable aura of a practiced bargainer, "I've got connections. I might be able to...help you in his stead."

Iskar scoffed. "Taking up his mantle? I don't think so. I'm done wasting my time here."

She hated to admit it, but the ball was no longer on her side of the table, if it ever was. And she wasn't about to strike a deal while she was losing the argument. Something about the girl- and not just her scamming demeanor; that was to be expected- made Iskar feel vulnerable and exposed. Maybe it was the way she carried herself, with a hidden tension that indicated dangerous competence despite her unassuming exterior. Maybe it was her hungry, too-interested gaze. Whatever it was, the odella smacking, half-naked girl made Iskar feel like a fly caught in a sticky web. She pushed her chair back and stood, signaling the discussion over.

Pinkface, apparently, thought differently. She shot from her seat and intercepted Iskar like flash of candy lightning, all bouncing hair and bouncing lips and bouncing other things.

"No! No, hear me out. We can come to some sort of arrangement now, no need to be hasty. The Balaur aren't busting down the door just yet."

Her abrupt change in attitude caught Iskar off guard. The table tipped in the ill priest's favor.

Nevertheless, she wasn't about to give in so soon. "I think I'm leaving." She tried to shove past, but the girl blocked her way again.

"I won a pair of leather gloves and a bottle of antidoze off today's fight. I'll trade you both for the kinah pendant."

Iskar saw the same desperation in her eyes that had been in Lavi's. It was just a little trinket, something that held absolutely no value to Iskar herself. But two people now were itching to get their hands on it.

"Wait," Iskar froze, still gripping the knife. "You saw the cord, but I could have any old pendant. How do you know it's the one you want?"

The stunned look on the pink's face was enough to tell Iskar that she was indeed hiding something, and she had just slipped up, big time. The priestess could practically see excuses flying behind her eyes. Whatever came out of the girl's mouth next would be a lie.

"I saw the cord. It's unique. I could spot that pendant from a mile away."

"Fair enough," Iskar accepted, deciding to play dumb. As long as she got the money, it didn't matter what the girl's motives were. But her curiosity wasn't quite satisfied yet. She would carry on the conversation for a little longer before talking price. "So you spent a lot of time with the fleet one himself, then?"

The girl relaxed, seeing that Iskar wasn't going to walk out on her any time soon. "You could say that. The point is, I want that pendant. You have the pendant. I'd bet we could work out some sort of a deal. It's worthless to you anyways, and I can guarantee that nobody but myself and the late Gamblebane would want anything to do with it. Regardless of what the transaction ends up being, we both win."

Iskar narrowed her eyes. "So you say. Antidoze isn't exactly 'winning' to me. Do I _look_ like a daeva to you?"

Her potential buyer shrugged. "Hard to tell these days. Stuff sells on the underground for a pretty piece, you know. It'd be worth it even if you're not."

"You," Iskar said pointedly, "are more full of nyerk than a shugo's business end."

"I think you mean the end that does business," she grinned. "But good ol' honesty never got you very far, has it?"

"I said it once and I'll say it again: Stop messing with me."

"I'll pay what I said and throw in a silver coin to boot."

Iskar raised her eyebrows. "Oh? Lavi offered fifteen."

The pink haired girl had the decency to look surprised. "That's outta my range. No can do."

"Lavi could," Iskar shrugged, feigning disinterest. "I expect a price match."

"Lavi," the girl growled darkly, "had his fingers in a lot of honeypots that weren't his to play with. I don't have that kind of money." She spat pulpy herb onto the floor and smashed it with her foot. "And I'm not leaving without that pendant. I've been chasing it for too long and I'm not letting it back into Valik's hands." She paused, squinting at Iskar with one suspicious eye. "How did you get ahold of it, anyway?"

Well, Iskar figured, no harm in telling. Desperation was, after all, an information broker's best friend. She would see how far this girl would go. "You know, I'm kind of cold. I think a pair of leather gloves might make me more amiable."

Just as Iskar had expected, the unnerving, flower-colored girl handed over the gloves with a sullen air.

"I could work with this," she admired the gloves before slipping them on. Iskar preened inwardly. It felt good to have leverage. Pinkface refused to make eye contact. She looked like she had swallowed a cup of humble tea, but Iskar couldn't quite figure out why.

A deal was a deal, and she cleared her throat to recount. "I'd gotten jumped outside the walls," she said, her tone clipped and brisk. "When I came to, I was in a wagon. From a mau there, I learned that I'd been mistaken for someone else, which was odd enough considering the intended target was…" she trailed off, staring at the girl before her with sudden realization. "Pink."

Pinkface remained silent, so Iskar decided to fill in for her.

"You're Tael, aren't you?"

When she spoke, it was with carefully chosen words. "I gave you a pair of gloves to tell me things I _don't_ know, not things I already do. Is Valik alive?"

She sounded...concerned. Worried, even.

"I don't know. There was an accident; the wagon crashed and he inhaled a lot of smoke. A friend helped me get him to safety, but he was trying to kill us at the time so we didn't exactly hang around to say good morning when he woke up." When Tael bit her lip and said nothing, Iskar hastily added, "But we made sure he wasn't going to die immediately when we left him. Besides, a boyfriend that hires people to bludgeon you over the head and kidnap you without explanation doesn't sound like a very good one, if you catch my drift."

Tael balked at this. "It's not like that. I was his accomplice for a time. We...disagreed on some matters." She pulled a square glass bottle of antidoze from her cube and fiddled with the cork idly. "We still have unresolved conflicts. That kinah pendant is one of them. You don't need to know the details, but he wasn't supposed to have it and it's very important that I have it back. Both of our lives depend on it."

Iskar fingered the cord thoughtfully. "It's that important, huh? So what did Lavi want with it?"

Tael scowled. "Lavi had reasons less pure than my own. Our interests were similar until he pulled the fifteen silver stunt. He sicced a bunch of bounty hunters after Valik with only concern for his own selfish needs. We parted ways after that."

"And now you're here, in his place."

"Just while I'm doing work here in the city. I'm not the type to stick around, don'cha worry about that. "

"You never answered my question."

Tael looked as if she were about to reach out and grab the pendant herself. Iskar clutched it protectively. The fuming thief crossed her arms and chewed furiously on her herbs.

"Don't have to. I have one silver piece, this antidoze, and the clothes off my back. That's awful more than you'll get anyplace else."

Iskar scowled. "If you think I'm looking for a free show, then get lost."

"Figure of speech," Tael growled. Her eyes narrowed. "Keeping that pendant will put a lot of innocent lives in danger, not just yours. You should just take my offer and be done with it. Don't mess with things you don't know."

Iskar's eyes flashed. "Listen up, Pinkie," she growled. "There are two things I can't stand: sob stories, and people trying to tell me what I can and can't do. This pendant was going to be my ticket to a lot of things, and I'm not going to settle for a silver coin and a bottle of potion that's entirely worthless to me. I lost more than that just getting my hands on this little trinket. I'd get more from a fish peddler." She pushed her chair back violently and stood. "I'm done."

"Wait!" Tael leapt from her seat, eyes widened with alarm. "I'll have the money-I just need time. Two days, that's all I ask. I'll pay you full. Fifteen silvers. And the antidoze."

It was likely an empty promise, but it was better than anything that had been offered. Iskar decided to take it. She didn't even bother to question where such a large amount of money would come from-they both knew, anyway.

"Two days then. I'll meet you here at noon."

Tael grinned, a smile between goofy and a little too wide. "Deal."


	7. Ch 5: King's Pawn

Ath clutched the cube in his left hand, searching the crowd for a familiar head of silver hair. He was still sore about the priest ditching him the moment they'd entered the city, but he wanted to find her before it was completely dark out. No cube was worth getting mauled.

Searching eyes roved over the thinning crowd once more. She'd probably gone home like she'd said she would. There wasn't much point in combing the entire city-after all, cubes were replaceable. Lives, not so much. It was almost curfew. He could always check tomorrow, and if there was still no sign of Iskar, he would give up searching and just...keep it and hope he ran into her, or leave it on the side of the road or something.

Both options sounded weak even to him, but he really didn't want anything to do with it. He rarely had enough items to fill the first two rows of his three-row cube as it was, and unless he wanted to pick up miscellaneous bits off the street as some people were prone to, he didn't have any use for a second cube. He could always take the contents of Iskar's and then throw the container away, but the idea didn't sit well with his conscience. Or his meticulously organized cubespace, he thought with dismay. He hadn't even looked at the damage the robbers had done to his own inventory. It was probably a disaster.

Unable to put up with the stresses of not knowing, he wedged Iskar's cube in the crook of his elbow and hit the organize switch on the side of his cube. The contents moved inside with an dalmost imperceptible jolt. It was still in disarray, he knew, but at least now he more or less was aware of what it looked like inside.

A flash of silver caught his eye. He couldn't guess who, but he must have pleased _somebody_ , because there was Iskar, all glares and sharp elbows, stamping angrily across the plaza in front of the coliseum without any heed for those unfortunate enough to be in her path. The imposing, cage-like structure sent unpleasant shivers down his spine, but he hurried towards her anyway. He would have to hurry if he didn't want to get caught out past curfew.

"Iskar!" he called. The priestess glanced up, a heavy scowl darkening what would have otherwise been a fairly pretty face. Irritation sat carved into her features as if etched in stone, and she quickly tried to make herself scarce. For a brief moment, the air distorted behind her, and Ath's heart leapt into his throat.

He sprinted towards her and opened his mouth to shout, but someone beat him to it.

"Stop!"

Iskar halted and turned, a snatch of alarmed confusion widening her eyes. A flurry of motion erupted from the side and the priestess ducked instinctively. There was a dull _thwack_ as metal came into contact with flesh, and suddenly Iskar was standing beside a tall swordsman and an unconscious, extremely pink body.

Ath's first thought was that something was terribly wrong with the abnormally colored heap, but his reasoning kicked in and he realized that it was just natural coloration. His train of thought jumped back onto the rails and shifted to the two upright people. Iskar was gaping at the newcomers, dumbfounded, while the swordsman (swords _woman_ , his brain supplied) somehow managed to look both angry and regretful at the same time. The mage hurried towards them, cube almost forgotten.

"I'm sorry about that," the warrior was saying to Iskar, "but that filthy daeva was about to attack you."

Iskar looked from the warrior to the alleged daeva, her face cycling through more shades of red than a magma spirit's posterior. Now a horribly livid brand of fuschia, she stamped over to the fallen daeva and put her hands on her hips, glaring down and seemingly trying to decide whether or not to commit murder. The mousy-haired warrior seemed about to join her when she felt Ath's gaze upon her.

"I ah...hope I'm not interrupting something," Ath stammered. The warrior tightened her grip on her greatsword- the one used to dispatch the daeva- and lowered it into ready position. The resolution on her face made his blood run cold.

"I see the daeva brought reinforcements," she snarled. "Your accomplice is unable to fight. You are outnumbered three to one. I suggest you surrender peacefully, or feel the punishment for your sins here on my blade."

"What?!" He took a nervous step back. "I'm not- I'm not a _daeva_. I'm barely even a mage! I can't even shoot a fireball!"  
"Liar," she hissed. Her nut-brown glare burned red and before he knew it, he was pinned to the ground with a blade at his throat. "You end here."

His claws scrabbled at the snow. "Don't kill me, I'm innocent! I don't even know that daeva! Iskar, _help me_!"

Iskar, praise Beritra, seemed to be in a merciful mood. "He's telling the truth, warrior. That mage couldn't be a daeva even if he sprouted a pair of wings and started shouting about the might of Zekiel. You can relax."

The warrior still looked suspicious, but she sheathed her sword. "Do you vouch for him with your life?"

A sigh from Iskar. "Just get off of him."

The heavy weight was lifted off of his chest. Ath took several deep, grateful breaths and vowed to never again take oxygen for granted. Sweet, sweet air...

"Are you alright? I'm sorry, Mynlae can be a little rash."

Ah, so the warrioress knew how to count after all. He sat up, rubbing his abused ribs. A smallish boy who couldn't possibly be any older than fourteen stood over him, offering a hand. Bright green eyes peered at him from beneath a mop of ice blue hair that looked like it hadn't been tended for several days. Seeing no harm in accepting, Ath took the proffered hand hesitantly. The moment he did, the warrior- Mynlae, presumably- swooped in and knocked his hand away before pulling the boy protectively into her arms.

"Siblings" was the first thing that struck him, but the resemblance between the two was second-to-none. Mynlae's rounded features stood in sharp contrast against the boy's square, crisp lines, and Ath concluded that they were probably cousins or had adopted each other as siblings. In the rough nooks and crannies of Altgard, it was hardly unheard of. It was dangerous to live alone. Banding together was definitely in anyone and everyone's best interest.

"Faelar! Why didn't you stay hidden under the stack like I told you to?" Her voice had a strong maternal quality. She wrapped her arms around him and held the compliant boy close to her chest, glaring up at Ath every so often to make sure he knew he hadn't been forgotten.

Ath ignored her and brushed the snow from his leggings. She seemed like the type to make quick judgements, and he got the feeling he wasn't on her happy list.

He turned his attention to Iskar, who didn't have a happy list. She was still standing over the pink daeva, and looked like she was leaning towards the 'yes' side of "should-I-bash-this-girl's-nose-into-her-shoulderblades". Unsure of whether to interrupt her one-sided staring contest or not, he stopped a few feet away and stood awkwardly, waiting for a break in the tension. Iskar didn't even look up.

"Ath, what are you doing here?" Though it was intended as a question, her flat tone made it sound more like a statement.

"I...er, found your cube," he stammered, holding the palm-sized device out like a peace offering. Iskar lunged forward and snatched it out of his hand with karnif-like speed.

"Where did you find this?!"

"The mau had it," he said quickly. "I didn't take anything. I was going to give it to you but you disappeared before I had the chance."

Iskar relaxed. "Oh. Well, thanks for bringing it back." She whipped something off of her neck and shoved it in her cube, then slipped the container into some pocket that he couldn't see. "Now stand back while I deal with this two-faced, drak-blasted son of the sun."

She shoved him roughly away and seized the stirring Atreian by the hair, mercilessly pulling her up to eye level. The diminutive girl struggled weakly, disoriented from the blow. Iskar's hands crackled with furious energy.

"You thought you could double-cross me? You said you would _pay_!"

The girl mumbled something unintelligible and turned her face away. Iskar leaned forward until their noses were almost touching. "What was that, Tael? I didn't hear you."

"I said, I lied." A haughty smirk formed on her berry-colored lips. "Is that too hard for you to understand? You just couldn't see it over the sound of your-,"

"Shut up." Mynlae's voice, soft and deadly, slid from behind Ath's ear. She was standing at his shoulder, Faelar all but forgotten as her eyes honed in on the stalker with chilling focus. Bony, calloused fingers trembled on the hilt of her sword. The warrior seemed both eerily calm and on the brink of erupting, like an ocean of rage that swelled beneath a sheet of feeble ice. "And drop your weapons."

All exchange between Iskar and Tael ceased, and both of them fell into a stunned silence. For a moment, only the small white clouds of their breath interrupted the stillness. Ath could almost hear their pounding heartbeats.

A pair of thin, hammered daggers clattered to the ground at Tael's feet. They bounced once, then twice, and slowly slid across the icy path before coming to rest in the snow several yards away.

Ath was speechless. He hadn't even seen Tael draw her weapons. From the look on Iskar's face, she hadn't either. Tael stared at the warrior with shocked eyes and parted lips. Silent ice reigned again.

"How did you know?" she asked finally. The cold air made the silence between them seem even more strained. Had it been corporeal, it would have been a line taunt enough to walk on.

"You should be more concerned with your final words, _daeva_. I will not let any one of your kind harm an innocent again. I'll make sure you die before that happens. Priestess, step aside."

Tael's eyes flickered to something in the peripheral. Ath followed her gaze to where a patrol of balaur stood in the near distance, twirling their swords. Iskar twisted her fingers in the thick pastel hair. Tael's expression remained haughty and smug despite the added pressure.

"Better not attack me, 'cause I'll shriek. It would be tragic if those patties over there learn about your _abilities_."

The blood drained from Mynlae's face, but she recovered quickly. "I have nothing to hide." Her sword glinted in the dimming light and she took a step forward.

Despite her awkward and painful position, Tael managed to shrug. "Funny you mention that. Won't matter to them. They'd getcha even if they didn't know you could see through 'hide'. They kill for less."

Something flashed across Mynlae's face. She was wavering. Tael didn't let up.

"I've seen it, you've seen it, we all know it's true." She continued to make eye contact with the warrior, even as Iskar stood in the line of sight.

Mynlae lowered her sword.

Beads of sweat stood out on Tael's forehead. "I'm no daeva. Just a very skilled scout. Check for yourself."

Mynlae's eyes roved over her, searching for something that Ath couldn't see. After finding (or not finding) what she was looking for, she let her eyelids fall and hung her head. "I apologize. I was mistaken. Priest, you can let her go."

Iskar stared at the warrior with disbelief. "I wasn't holding her for you-she was going to ambush me! Don't just tell me to let her go-the moment I do she'll turn around and stab us in the back."

Ath wondered when they had become an "us", but chose not to comment on the priest's word choice. There would be time to sort out allegiances later; for now, what little natural light remained in the city was quickly fading. Whether or not the disputes were resolved, in a few minutes they would have to either disperse or move their fight to the shadows.

The would-be ambusher rolled her eyes. "There are four yous and one me. I'd rather run. You'd never hafta see me again. Though," she continued, eyeballing Ath hungrily, "I kinda like the looks of this one. Maybe I'd be inclined to stick around." The mage got the distinct impression that he had been sized up before, and the scout was now just putting on a show of it. He squirmed uncomfortably. Being the center of attention was not in his box of favorite experiences.

Thankfully, Iskar was quick to bring the pink girl's attention back to the matter at hand. "You think you're going to stick around? You should count your lucky stars that your head is still attached to your neck."

"You're just a lot of big talk. I might not be a daeva, but I could still knock you flatter than a crasaur and you wouldn't even know what hit you. You honestly can't have not expected this-I was ready to give you everything I had for that trinket. You refused. From my view, I was just taking back what's mine."

This time it was Faelar, the warrior's young companion who moved forward. "What trinket?"

"No trinket you'd know," Tael wrenched herself from Iskar's grasp, barely sparing the boy a glance. "Go back to your dolls, kiddo. This is the big kids' playtime."

Mynlae stepped in for her. "Faelar, now is not the time for curiosity. As rude as they both are, we don't want to get involved in their fight."

"Umbra, folks, it's-," Ath started. His words were easily drowned out beneath the escalating argument.

"There wouldn't even be a fight if you had been trustworthy!"  
"Me? Trustworthy?! You gotta be joking. You can't ask for fifteen silvers and expect me to pay honest. I offered, but you wouldn't take nothing I had!"

"What good would a bottle of antidoze do me? Nothing, that's what, and a single silver won't bribe anyone. Some poor sap would have to be loonier than a defective ribbit to talk hot for that price."

"Er….guys?" The mage tried unsuccessfully to gain their attention. It was hard enough to make himself heard; let alone without incurring either one's wrath. "Could you stop for a secon-,"

"If you hold onto that kinah you'll die a lot sooner than you planned, let me tell you that. I was gonna do you a favor."

Iskar's eyes flashed, leaving wispy trails of red in their wake. "By stealing it? You could have _asked_! Or- Beritra forbid- _explain_. You didn't have to try and attack me!"

"You wouldn't have listened! I can't and I won't leave without that pendant-I'd no choice but to take it by force. And who're you to talk about stealing? You stole it off a thief who stole it from me, and I was just stealing it back. I don't owe you nothing."

Hostile energy charged the air between them almost visibly. Tael turned her snubbed nose to the sky above. Iskar's glare could have melted the permanent ice beneath their feet.

Ath and Mynlae exchanged a glance. There was almost no light left, and it was less than five minutes until curfew. It was silently agreed that the two girls would have to continue their argument somewhere else.

"I'll take the pink one if you take the priest," she muttered, crouching into a ready stance.

Images of his nose getting roughly acquainted with sharp elbows flashed through his mind. He shuddered. Iskar was scary. He'd much rather have taken the scout.

"Alright, on three then."

One…

Two….

 _Three!_ They each launched themselves at their respective targets, claws outstretched. Mynlae faded to the edges of his vision as he focused his attention on Iskar. To his relief, she looked too surprised to react.

"Wha-?"

He seized her ear and forcibly pulled her off Tael. "Could you fight later please? Now isn't the best time."

 _Please don't rearrange my face, please oh please don't rearrange my face..._

Judging by her expression, he might as well have just asked her to eat Pandaemonium. "You don't-," she began, trailing off as realization dawned on her. "Oh. Right."

Ath took advantage of her hesitation and used the opportunity to pull her into the safety of a nearby alley. Thankfully, it was unoccupied, save for a few rodents and the occasional cockroach. He sighed with relief- his face was still intact.

Mynlae followed with Tael shortly after, making sure to position herself between the two fuming humans. After several minutes, both of them (meaning Iskar) had managed to calm down to the point where they could sit in the other's presence without anyone getting throttled. The warrior carefully stepped out from between them, watching for a reaction from either party. They turned their faces away from each other, harrumphing.

The shadows lengthened as the last scraps of daylight finally faded. Mynlae moved to stand beside Faelar, shivering even beneath her relatively thick armor. Ath cleared a space to sit and leaned back onto the wall of the building that sheltered them from balic eyes. He wrapped his arms around his knees and breathed into his hands for warmth.

Tael made no move to leave, and instead situated herself in the darkness some yards away from where he was sitting. Mynlae and Faelar did the same, clinging to each other but still not entirely distancing themselves from the rest. Ath didn't question their decision to stay. It was far too dangerous to spend the night outdoors alone, and too late to get back home safely. The balaur wouldn't check the alleyways. The homeless, while technically illegal, were far too numerous to apprehend without putting a severe dent in the population. As long as they stayed out of immediate sight, they would be safe from the enforcers.

That, however, said nothing for the other predators that roamed the streets at night. It was for this reason that, despite their obvious differences and unfamiliarity with each other, a tense, wordless alliance was formed. As a group, they were far less likely to be ambushed by a pack of raiders or heretics than they would be alone, or even in pairs.

Faelar was curled up nearly in Mynlae's lap, eyes drooping sleepily. Ath found himself seated next to Iskar, just far enough away so that he couldn't feel her body heat. She was still too irked to look tired, but Ath himself felt as if at any minute, the warm waters of sleep would pull him into their embrace. He fought against it. Suspicion and apprehension hung in the air. None of them would dare sleep in the others' company, when they could turn on each other at any minute.

The soft crunch of balaur patrolling up and down the snowy road drifted into the alley.

It was going to be a long night.

{-}

Questions. Questions, and more questions, and never any answers. She dipped her quill in the inkwell and drew a big black dot in the center of what looked like a children's paper maze.

Questions that always seemed to lead back to the center of the maze like thread to a spool.

Guilty indulgence scratched across the paper. For years she had resisted, and time and time again told herself that there were others, higher priorities she had to pursue, better decisions to make. But it was an unsolved puzzle, and her mind kept drifting back to it, refusing to move on until she had it cracked.

She glanced at Alchetopin's printouts and drew another line on the map.

She never ran out of reasons to put the project back on the shelf. It was too dangerous. There were too many variables. There were other things to work on. Better options. Better odds. Others. She made a bracket around a large section of the maze, marking it with a question mark.

Eventually she had locked the plans away. There they sat gathering dust in a lonely cupboard as she lost track of the years that flew by. Eventually, they faded into background noise. And gradually, like all the others, she learned to ignore it.

The paper squeaked in protest as she pushed the quill across the surface. After referencing the printouts, she drew four small x's on the outside wall of the maze. The ink in her quill turned to lead as doubt caused her to waver. She was making a mistake.

Now that she had given in to the temptation, she devoted a disproportionately large amount of time trying to think herself out of it. The number of ways things could go wrong was astronomical. It wasn't _really_ the best course of action. The past was just clouding her judgement. She was weak, she was so desperate that she would resort to anything. There had to be something else.

No, she was being silly again-letting her emotions get the best of her. Alcheptopin wasn't programmed with emotions- and it was the one who suggested it. Her decision to take this course of action was a purely tactical one. No matter how many ways she squinted, the odds were in her favor. If she gathered a low-profile team to carry out the mission, the dangers would be minimized. Alchetopin's reports showed decreasing security in response to the prisoner's rapid spike in deterioration. In all the years she'd left the matter shoved aside, there had never been such a prime time to carry out a break in. The prison would be at its most vulnerable. And, because of the deterioration, her plans had the increased pressure of an expiration date.

Alchetopin rolled forward with an updated printout, spinning its newer, fancier range-boosting appendage happily. It beeped and nudged the fresh sheet in front of her. She pushed it aside distractedly.

She needed the information. If she didn't act soon, the knowledge might be lost forever. Completing the weapon was her first priority. She wouldn't be acting out of selfishness. She wasn't doing this for herself. Not for her, not for him- _for Atreia_.

The tip of her quill snapped. She hadn't realized she was writing.

She made no move to pick up the inky fragments and instead sat there with the useless pen raised above the paper. Alchetopin churred as it rolled away, rattling off into her subconscious. Her thoughts had gotten away from her again. The gentle whirring of machinery played harmony to the rise and fall of her chest as her breath hitched in her throat.

 _Why couldn't it have been Marchutan?_

The thought was sudden and unexpected. A longing for companionship- for his stoic-faced jokes and laid back rasp- hit her like a strike to the back, nearly knocking the wind out of her. The clicking gears, which she usually found soothing, suddenly sounded cold and hollow.

 _Why couldn't it have been anyone else?_

Tiny, wrinkled circles appeared on the paper.

 _Why did it have to be him?_

She knew, of course, having worked closely with the Shedim Lord of Fate during the bastion project. Even if Pandaemonium was accessible, there was nothing he knew that she didn't. The balaur couldn't work with Aether, so capturing and interrogating researcher about a conversion problem was pointless. None of the current mechanics could measure up. All the Asmodian and Elyos researchers from the Idian era were either dead or scattered to the winds.

It was an odd kind of karma.

" _Amplification cannon scanned. Ide-Aether compatibility verified. Operability: negative. Activation strongly discouraged. Prediction: chain limit: 7350. Activation threshold: 15000. Conclusion: Amplification cannon nonfunctioning. Unable to fire. Revisions recommended. Error: unknown. Insufficient data. Acquisition of additional data recommended. Awaiting input."_

"I'm-" she drew in a breath. "I'm working on it."

Alchetopin let out a whirr that ended in a series of disappointed clicks. The scanning appendage folded up and retreated beneath its panel with a hiss.

She swiped a hand across her eyes and gingerly picked up the splintered shaft. Wet ink smeared onto her claws, staining the tips an uneven black. A small inferno roared to life in her palm, engulfing the fragments in a cadmium blaze. Her eyes followed the flames blankly, taking on a glassy sheen.

Somewhere in the study, a clock chimed four. She closed her fist, extinguishing the light.

It was late. No wonder her thoughts were running.

She should probably go to sleep.

Her shoulders slumped. A thin cloud of ash drifted into the air as her hand came to rest at her side. It stirred up wisps of some question she had long forgotten, but when she reached for them, it slipped away and vanished into nothingness. She stared at the empty air until the last of the particles had dissipated.

She blinked and straightened. With a small shake of her head and a half-suppressed yawn, she moved across the room to the glowing spheres along the wall. Two gentle fingers brushed each one she passed. The lights glowed brightly at her touch before slowly fading out of existence, leaving a patch of darkness behind. Alchetopin rolled quietly at her heels, churring softly each time the room dimmed.

When she reached the end of the line, the room was in near-darkness. The lamp that hung on the hook near the door had gone cold. She picked it up by the handle and set it down on the nearest table, making a mental note to write up a new spell for it later.

The only light that remained came from one of the twelve lanterns that hung on the opposite side of the study. In the dark, she picked her way to a narrow bed that sat in one of the lesser-used parts of the large room. Scattered notes and intercepted balaur reports were strewn across the straw mattress. She pushed them onto the floor.

" _Entering rest mode. Query unavailable for: 03:00 hours. Objections? Yes/No."_

"No, Alchetopin. Go to sleep."

The robot rolled to the bedside, spun once, and settled down on the floor near her pillow. Its orb-like eyes dimmed to half brightness.

" _Light detected. Remove? Query: Yes/No."_

She slid beneath the sheets, still dressed in her day robes. "That one stays lit. You should know that by now."

The soft mechanical squeak of metal brushing against metal reverberated through the room. " _Additional light sources detected. Activate lanterns?"_

"Those lanterns are cold," she mumbled. She rolled over and faced the wall. "You can't light them."

" _Clck! Invalid argument."_

"They're not ready yet. You have to wait."

She knew Alchetopin wasn't equipped to judge conflicting data. True to her predictions, her mechanical assistant's eye lights flickered as the information was stored away for later analysis.

 _Not yet, Alchetopin._

On the other side of the room, a table full of ancient schematics and fresh diagrams sat waiting. A map of Asmodae- Irkalla- hung stuck with pins on another. A crate full of intercepted reports spilled onto the floor.

A lone lantern winked fire into the darkness.

 _Soon._


	8. Ch 6: Oh what a merry band!

It was only a few hours before morning, and the pink skank was still there.

Iskar crossed her arms and slouched against the cold wall. Tael had somehow gotten her daggers back, and was quietly sharpening them on a small whetstone. The soft, rhythmic scraping settled in the air almost naturally, carving pockets into the background noise with seamless precision.

Iskar turned her head into the wall and tried to block out the sound.

 _Shinck, shinck, shinck_

"If you keep lookin' like that, your face'll turn black."

Iskar glanced up, surprised that Tael had spoken to her. When the scout's words processed, her scowl returned with double strength.

"Not black yet. Guess that means I have to try harder."

"Tch."

With that, all conversation between them died, and the blade sharpening resumed.

 _Shinck, shinck, shinck_

The red-haired mage had fallen asleep, half-snoring against the wall with his hands draped limply at his sides. He hadn't so much as twitched an eyelash at the sound of voices. Iskar sighed. He wasn't going to last long like that. And she had just started to get a little fond of him, too.

Not that she would last much longer, anyway.

She pushed the thought out of her head quickly. That kind of thinking never got her anywhere. She had to keep focused on the future, on her possibilities. Once daylight broke and the streets became active again, she would shake the others and start the hunt for Yustiel. It would be harder without money, but Tael had made it clear that she wouldn't pay for the thief's pendant.

She wouldn't quit tailing her until she got ahold of it, either. Iskar's eyes flickered to the scout. Tael met her gaze and waved her fingers, smiling mischievously.

Stupid fish-girl.

Iskar's claws left small, painful red circles on her knees. If the girl followed her, there was nothing she could do to stop it. Her healing skills were fair enough, but her fighting prowess didn't extend far beyond a knuckle to the face and a good old-fashioned bludgeoning. It wouldn't be enough to win against even a moderately skilled scout, let alone one proficient in hide. An unpleasant niggling in the back of her mind told her that Tael still hadn't revealed all of her strength. Despite her midriff-baring armor choice and nightmarish coloring, a subtle confidence when in combat indicated more knowledge and skill than she let on.

Iskar's cheeks heated. She didn't like admitting inferiority. But she knew how to pick and choose her battles.

The thought to just give in and hand over the pendant teased at her. Bribery money was valuable, but entirely worthless if she died trying to get it. People got killed over bounty items all the time- and Tael's ambush attempt showed just how far she was willing to go.

She sighed, resting her head against the sharp stone wall with a measured thud. Maybe it wasn't too late to just take the antidoze and get it over with. She didn't have the time to mess with a thieving dock girl and the useless mage. She had an Empyrean to find.

"Your friend is going to get robbed if he keeps on sleeping like that."

Iskar jerked to an upright sitting position. In her preoccupation with Tael and her thoughts, she had forgotten Mynlae was there.

"He's not my friend," she said quickly. "He's an acquaintance. And yeah, he's going to get robbed."

Mynlae grunted. "You didn't feel like waking him up?"

Iskar shrugged, casting Ath a brief glance. "He needs the beauty sleep."

The warrior glanced at the sleeping mage and sighed, laying a hand on her own companion's head. His back rose up and down slowly in the rhythm of sleep. "Don't take people you care about for granted."

Iskar scoffed. "You're living in this city, and you're telling _me_ that? You must have been raised under a rock."

She waited for an angry retort, but there was none. Mynlae just sat staring off into space, running her fingers through the kid's hair. It seemed like the motion was more to comfort herself than the sleeping child.

"Besides," Iskar turned her face away. "I don't care about him. We just met this morning."

Mynlae closed her eyes. "Forgive me. I didn't mean to assume."

"Hmpf." Iskar crossed her arms and fiddled with the organize button on her cube. "What about you? Yours is sleeping too."

Mynlae frowned. "Faelar is under my protection. He can rest without fear of attackers." She laid a hand warningly on the hilt of her sword. "Human, daeva, and balaur are all alike when they try to harm someone close to me."

There was more to her words, but Iskar couldn't quite put her finger on what. Instead, she decided to satisfy her curiosity about something else she picked up from the warrior.

"Where are you from?" Iskar asked, tapping her claws on her knee. "You don't sound like you've lived here. Especially with all that talk about protecting people you care about. Nobody cares about anyone. Either you're useful or you're dead. There isn't room for pretty words like love and care in this city."

Mynlae raised an eyebrow. Iskar sighed, and rolled her eyes. "You don't have an Altgard accent," she clarified.

Tael, on the other side, was leaning forward with barely-concealed interest. Iskar ignored her. She didn't feel like acknowledging the girl's existence, though she couldn't care less whether she listened in or not.

Mynlae shifted into a more comfortable position, careful to not wake Faelar as she did so. A gentle snow began to fall, coin sized flakes drifting slowly through the sky before settling softly on the ground below. It was a rare break from Altgard's usual blizzards.

"I grew up in Pernon, in the crafting district. My grandparents were armorsmiths, my parents were blacksmiths, and I became a weaponsmith. I'm here in Altgard delivering a few commissions to the balaur troops. Faelar is my assistant."

"Hence the daeva hunting," Iskar pointed out dryly. Mynlae bit her lip, looking suddenly uncomfortable.

"That's-,"

"Personal, I get it." Iskar held up her hands as a sign of backing off. "A lot of people have problems with daevas. That's why they're locked up in the Coliseums, where they can't hurt anybody. And honestly? I couldn't care less what you do to Tael. Snap her neck and watch me cry."

Tael's indignant squawk of protest went largely ignored. Mynlae didn't like her much, either, then.

Iskar couldn't resist a satisfied smirk.

The Pinkface sniffed, turning her nose up. "Just 'cause you don't like me don't mean either of you could lay a scratch on me even if you had daeva's aether under your skin."

"Quit trying to rub it in before I change my mind and turn you in," Iskar warned. The first beams of dawn began to glint against the snow, staining the black clouds above them grey.

"I'd be gone before you'd come back. Thieves don't stay alive for nothing, you know." Tael grinned, eyes glinting in the darkness accompanied by the snap of a cube opening. The smooth scent of odella rolled through the frigid, snow-spotted air. "Or I could mouth to the patties about warrior's a-,"

"Stop." Mynlae's cold, harsh tone cut through the air like an arrow. Were it real, the tip would have cracked into the wall just beside Tael's head. "Not another word."

The gentle snow twirled around them, giant, slow flakes like summer moths. A shadow fell over Mynlae's eyes, hints of red showing through.

Tael let out a breath. "Nice weather we're having."

The sudden change of subject was enough to ease the tension. Mynlae kept her hand on her sword but let herself relax out of her fighting crouch, albeit with reluctance.

"S'cold. How novel."

Ath, finally, was awake. He blinked tiredly. Dark blue pockets of exhaustion decorated his eyes. He didn't _look_ like he had gotten a full night's sleep.

"Good morning, sleepyhead." Iskar elbowed him with medium-harshness when he began to get too close. Tael looked like she wanted to say something, but wisely kept her mouth shut.

Ath rubbed the sore spot with a wince. "What was that for?"

"Falling asleep."

His face blanked, then realization struck him and he smacked a hand to his forehead, groaning. "Oh."

Iskar rolled to her feet. "Yeah. ' _Oh_ '."

Unsurprisingly, Tael stood up shortly after. "Where are you planning on going?"

"Somewhere far away from you." She wiped the snow crystals off her lashes and faced the street. "Come on, Ath. We're leaving."

"We?" The mage sounded as surprised as she was. "Since when were we a "we""?"

Iskar fumbled for an answer. The word had slipped from her mouth before she had even realized she was saying it.

She grabbed the front of his tunic, deciding to remedy the problem with brute force. That was the beauty of it-there was no way to go wrong with something so uncomplicated. "Since right now. I'd shake hands with both Azaphil and Beritra if it meant I could separate myself from _her_."

Ath didn't ask, since it was obvious who the _her_ was.

Instead, he sat there gaping like a fish.

"You fell asleep in the midst of strangers. Thanks to Pinkface, I don't have anything better to do with my day, so I'll help you get home. Otherwise you'd get murdered on the way or something," she offered, since he seemed to want an explanation.

He blinked. It only served to make him look slightly less fish-like and more like a particularly intelligent daru.

"Are you going to sit there all day? We don't want to get caught up in the crowds for today's match, so make a decision."

"Coming, coming." He stood stiffly. Iskar waited patiently for him to get to his feet. One clawed foot created scuff indentations in the snow as it tapped rapidly.

As she waited, a soft whisper slithered into her ears. A brief glance in its direction told her that Faelar, too, was awake, and murmuring something to Mynlae. The mousy-haired weaponsmith nodded occasionally as he spoke, eyes cast thoughtfully downward.

She had almost forgotten about the weaponsmith's companion. There was not a hint of tiredness on his face-in fact, he seemed to have almost a healthy glow. She must give him most of her meals, Iskar reasoned. While not as muscular, his weight was better than the warrior's by leaps and bounds.

Ath was standing by now, and was staring through Mynlae and Faelar, looking as if he had forgotten something very important but couldn't remember what. His eyes had become glazed and slightly unfocused, so she elbowed him again.

"Ak!"

"Serves you right. Don't fall asleep on me again. I won't be protecting you a second time."

"Ah- right. Sorry."

Mynlae was suddenly beside them, fastening the buckles on her armor. Her sword slid onto her back with the hiss of cool metal. Faelar flanked her side, alert and clutching a small wooden harp.

"We will accompany," she announced. "Faelar and myself will serve as bodyguards."

Iskar blinked. "What? No, we're going on our-,"

Tael placed her hands on her hips, claw tips resting lightly on the handles of the daggers sheathed there. "I said I wasn't leavin'. So I'm not. And you can't do flerp about it."

Iskar groaned. "What could you _possibly_ -,"

"I've got my reasons, and they've got theirs. But you and mageling both have something I want and I'm not leaving until I feel like I got everything." She tilted her head, looking at the two of them through squinted eyes. "Maybe I should tie you two together. That way I don't have to pick one."

Ath looked horrified by the idea. Iskar couldn't blame him. The prospect of being tied to his skinny hide for a week scared her, too.

"Nobody is tying anyone together, and somebody is going to lose their tongue if they don't _shut up_." The priest glared at Tael, who remained infuriatingly unaffected. "Also, _no one_ is going to "accompany" anybody. That pipsqueak? A bodyguard? _Pfft_. Please. If the Gulag lived on a diet of _him_ , it would starve to death before it even realized it was eating." She pointed an accusing finger at the daeva-hunter and her assistant. "I bet you two have some secret agenda and are planning to murder us all as soon as we let our guard down. There is absolutely no other reason for you to follow. Don't you have swords to deliver?"

Plus, if Mynlae and Faelar tailed her, she wouldn't be able to freely search for Yustiel. Especially since they seemed to be at least inclined towards the right side of the law, judging from their daeva hunting. The kid had barely said a word, so she wasn't too sure about his capabilities, but while Mynlae didn't seem too incredibly sharp, it wouldn't take long for her to put two and two together. Having to worry about getting Tael off her mane was bad enough. Another one- it gave her a headache just thinking about it.

Maybe she should try to talk them into trying to capture the pink thief for bounty. There just had to be a prize on her head and everybody liked money, after all.

Though with Tael's strength, she knew it would probably be a very one-sided fight. Mynlae wasn't too far off in immediately assuming she was a daeva; even a partial hide was an immensely difficult skill to pull off. But if pitting them against each other would keep the three of them occupied for long enough for her to slip away, well, what were a few lost lives or limbs in the grand scheme of things? She had monsters to chase.

Then again, she mulled, the pair would also have to be fairly strong to have the confidence to challenge daevas. Even unbound and freshly ascended, the winged demons had the potential to both take and dish out inhuman amounts of damage. Unless a human fighter was incredibly skilled, it was usually best to leave them to the Ereshkigal squads.

After tinkering with the idea for a thought cycles, she discarded it. There was no way Mynlae and Faelar would fall for it. Besides, when the warrior discovered that Tael and Ath weren't daevas, she had lost all but the faintest wisps of curiosity in an instant. Iskar had _thought_ it would work in her favor. Irony seemed to have a certain fondness for her as of late.

Mynlae and her sidekick looked at each other, holding some sort of silent conversation. They muttered some agreement. That couldn't be good.

"We accompany. For our own reasons." Mynlae's feet were planted a solid hip width apart. "If the mage truly is useless, then you are outnumbered. Dissent is futile. You have no choice but to allow us to go with you."

That was definitely not what she wanted them to conclude, but she wasn't all that surprised to find that they reaffirmed their decision. Mynlae's vagueness about her motives, however, kept Iskar on her guard. Vague motives were just as bad as, if not more dangerous than known malice.

"Fine." Iskar stepped away into the road, distancing herself from the others. "Sorry Ath, you're on your own. I'm not going to put up with this."

One was bad enough; she wasn't going to get tangled in whatever it was the weaponsmith and her tagalong were after. Ath was nice, and naive, and kind of helpless, but he would live. Hopefully. He made it this far, after all.

The mage stood uncertainly in the snow piled on the sides of the road, shifting from foot to foot. "Er...I don't actually need anyone to take me home, you know. I can go myself. I never _asked_ for companions." He cleared his throat nervously. "And honestly, I-,"

"Regardless of whether Iskar goes or not, we will travel with the mage."

This sent Iskar's eyebrows up beneath her bangs. She had thought they would be targeting Tael. She was by far the more likely candidate if they were looking for a daeva. Definitely more so than _Ath_ , of all people.

"Well, that's my cue." Tael brushed her hands together, smiling cheerfully despite the frustration that crept into her tone. "Ath, lead the way."

"You too?" Iskar blurted incredulously. "I thought you wanted the…" she trailed off, feeling Mynlae's gaze prickling on the back of her neck. Faelar looked disinterested, but she could tell that he had an ear trained in her direction.

Tael showed no concern at all. "I still do," she shrugged. "But I've changed my mind. I want _that one_ more at the moment." She pointed at Ath, smirking. "But if you wanna come too, by all means. It'll save me the trouble of having to chase you down later."

"Listen guys, I'm flattered and all, being so popular all of a sudden, but actually I just want to go home by myself," Ath said awkwardly. "I've gone without a squad of bodyguards for as long as I can remember. I'm sure I'll be fine."

Poor guy, didn't sound like he was enjoying this very much. Iskar felt a pang of sympathy for him. He looked like he wanted nothing more than to run away to some dark corner and hide.

"In that case, we will follow only," Mynlae said. Her decisive tone left no room for argument. Ath wilted visibly.

"That's not exactly what I mea-,"

"Sucks to be you then," Tael interrupted flippantly. "If it bothers you that much, just pretend you're alone."

"Shards, _that_ makes me feel so much better!" Sarcasm rolled off the mage in waves. Iskar chuckled. So he had a temper in there, after all. "You know, in most circumstances following someone home without their say-so is considered creepy."

"Don't be an idealist," Tael chided playfully. She grabbed his upper arm and waggled a finger in front of his eyes. Ath grimaced and tried to pull away, but her grip held strong. "Everybody's a little creepy around here. Haven't you learned that by now?"

Iskar prickled. Watching the invasion of someone _else's_ space was making her uncomfortable.

When Ath didn't reply right away, Tael leaned closer. "Well, I'll cut you some slack on this one. Admittedly, you've had a little less time than most." She tightened her grip on his arm, causing hints of fuchsia to seep into his skin from the pressure. He tried to back away. Tael refused to let go.

Then, in front of everyone, she leaned over and _licked_ him.

Mynlae slapped a hand over Faelar's eyes. Iskar flinched, half-amused and half revolted. Ath looked like he had been completely caught off-guard. He shuddered with revulsion before shoving her away and leaping back in disgust. A fresh trail of slime decorated his shoulder. He furiously wiped it away.

"What was _that_?! You _licked_ me! We don't lick people!"

Tael's smile couldn't have looked more smug if she were crowned empress of Irkalla. "Three or four years at the most."

This froze the mage in his tracks, stunned. Iskar resisted the urge to scratch her head in confusion.

"Don't trip up congrats'ing me, 'cus I know I'm right." Tael tossed her pink coifs over her shoulder proudly. "But let's not waste anymore time here. I wanna see what you've done with yourself since you showed up." She seized Ath's wrist and hauled him away effortlessly, despite his protests. Her elegant mane twirled at her ankles as she stepped onto the hardened snow of the street. "C'mon Mynlae, Faelar. You two are heretics, right? This here is the heretic's opportunity of a lifetime." She waggled her fingers over her shoulder. "Good luck with the spots, priestess. You'll find another place to start looking, surely."

Tiny sparks of light arced across Tael's eyes. It bewildered her, but it reminded Iskar of herself.

She looked like someone who had had their hopes crushed one too many times, and had finally found a lead.

Iskar watched speechlessly as the four of them walked away, leaving a trail of asymmetrical footsteps behind them. The fresh snow gleamed in the newborn dawn.

It was crazy. It was dangerous. She wasn't even sure what had happened, or how, or why she was suddenly so willing to trust them. But more than friends, more than safety, she needed something.

"When I catch up, you all have some explaining to do!"

Tael was a fisherman, and she was hooked.


	9. Ch 7: Glaciers can run

She set her quill down and stepped back to admire her work.

The ink-stained diagrams stared up at her. It wasn't foolproof, but given the materials she had to work with, she no choice but t

* * *

o throw all her dice into hoping that it was good enough. She had only one shot. There was no backup plan. No second chances.

Colors spotted before her eyes, red and silver, blades and magic intertwining in a macabre light show. She took a deep breath, clutching the edge of the table to steady herself. The dark spot in her heart throbbed and twisted, mewling for attention.

Five, maybe six lives. That was all.

It disgusted her.

Hoarse yells rang in her ears as her days as a commander came crawling back from the graves of her memories. It seemed like every time she blinked, a new stack of scrolls appeared, listing the endless names of missing soldiers she had willingly sacrificed in the name of greater victory.

' _Regrettable losses,'_ she had said, ' _They will never be forgotten for paying the ultimate price to further the Asmodian cause.'_

In the older, wartorn days-cold, but not so cold as now- she could never allow herself to show an ounce of weakness to her people. An anguished cry echoed in the distance, silenced with a wet gurgling and an invisible gust of wind.

They needed strength, wisdom, and infallibility. Tears had to be beaten back and locked away, where nobody could see them.

Alchetopin twittered and buzzed. It queried about her condition. A hollow laugh escaped her.

She really must have grown weak over the years, if she was allowing her emotions and resolve to be buffeted around by something so small. Straightening her back, she rolled up the finished plans and tucked them onto a shelf for safe keeping. Risks sometimes had to be taken for the greater good, and acceptance of losses was a necessary evil. It had taken her long enough to learn that the first time. She didn't need to learn it again.

She let her hand linger on the rolled-up end of the scroll for a moment longer than she needed to. The strategy had some holes and still needed polishing, but it would be easier to work out the details later. There was something she had to do first.

Alchetopin trailed at her ankles as she abandoned the table and the papers lying around it, many curling at the ends and cracked with stiffness. She paused, taking a moment to take in the overall state of the room. Gears and rods littered the floor, yellow and brown rolls of parchment scattered amongst them like molted feathers. She cringed inwardly. She really had let the place fall into disarray.

Years of neglect had allowed a buildup of worn out parts and failed prototypes on and around some of the tables and walls. A thin piece of metal glinted up at her from beneath thin sheets of adamantium. She picked up one of the delicate scales of metal, the cold, buttery material warming beneath her touch. They had been meant to go into the amplification cannon, but had almost undetectable metal impurities that would have upset the delicate balance of aether inside the conversion chamber. She thought she had melted them down. She filed a mental note to do it later, when balaur activity was low.

Until then, her focus would be on gathering the fighters she wanted. A standard, six-member group would be the most logical choice. An alliance would be difficult to gather, and a trio would leave far too little room for error. Dry, ashen lips parted in a weary peal of laughter.

It had been a long time since she'd had reason to use those terms.

Alchetopin bumped lightly into the backs of her calves. She set the metal sheet back down where she had found it. It wasn't the thing she was looking for. Sighing, she brushed it aside with her foot and forged her way deeper into the mess, alchemical assistant rolling along behind her. Holding her hair out of her eyes with one hand, she peered up at the gleaming stack of discarded projects.

Twisted metal and broken drana tubes jutted out of the mass, protruding and grasping like the limbs of a dead tree. She stepped back as she scanned the largest pieces, frowning. Jagged glass crunched underfoot as she moved to see around the pile. It wasn't like her to lose track of things- she had just _seen_ it…

She was shifting aside a failed Alchemyassist 1.4 prototype when its successor beeped excitedly, spinning around her feet in case it's twittering wasn't enough to gain her attention.

" _Assistance? Query: Y/N."_

She pushed the older model back into the pile, causing the precariously balanced mess to creak dangerously. A small, amused chuckle escaped her as Alchetopin's smooth circles beneath her turned to erratic jerks. She picked up the chirping robot and plucked a chunk of drenium from its wheels. With the jam removed, its wheels began to spin normally again. She placed it on a safer part of the floor where its rollers wouldn't get caught on debris.

"I'm looking for OB-184. Remember, the kisk prototype? It should be around here somewhere," she said, glancing around the room one last time with a half-hearted hope that it would jump out at her. She had no such luck; the room was too cluttered to see much past one or two tables. "It should have a category B aether signature, maybe with some D-2 residue. Requesting scan."

Alchetopin whirred, eye-lights dimming slightly as it settled into short-ranged aether detection mode. Of course she could just feel for the aether herself, which would be far faster and for certain more accurate, but she didn't build Alchetopin so she could expend precious energy doing the things that it was designed to do for her.

The robot chattered in place as it squatted on the floor, steam hissing from slatted vents set in its sides. After rattling noisily for a span of half a minute, it straightened and click-click-beeped to celebrate its successful scan.

"OB-184 located! _Whrrr._ Approaching."

Alchetopin rolled forward, clanking over the occasional piece of metal and leaving creased wheel-ravines on sheets of discarded paper. It struggled its way towards a table near the inoperable cannon. Recognition jabbed her between the eyes. She almost groaned at her own stupidity. She _knew_ she had just seen it.

Behind the slick black and luminescent blue of the massive cannon sat an innocuous looking stone sculpture. It wasn't that old, but the poor quality of the material had already caused it to begin crumbling at the edges. A fizzling aura of decaying aether lingered around the object. She picked it up gingerly-small bits of infused rock came away in her hands and clung to her skin as she carried it out of the discard pile.

There was no clear table to set it down on, so she settled for the open patch of floor that Alchetopin was occupying while she made space. A short while later, the stone was sitting proudly atop a clean surface, fresh tools and blank note papers fanned around it like a ceremonial array. A thick layer of dust had settled on the top and in the crevices-she gently brushed it off and wiped the dirty areas clean.

The kisk was in terrible shape. She ran her fingers along the fried edges and charred black planes. It was likely unsalvageable-a single use had compromised its stability beyond repair. Not that she hadn't been expecting such an outcome; in fact, she had purposefully designed it to be unable to withstand more than two resurrections at the most, in order to prevent its power from being abused should it have fallen into the wrong hands.

But the kisk itself wasn't what she wanted. Her eyebrows furrowed with concentration. The static buzz of aether coursed through her fingers and up her arm. It was cold and slow- long, bounding waves of energy that were meant to last. It wasn't what she was looking for. She would have to look deeper.

She closed her eyes and let her consciousness sink into the aether. Like leaping into a pool of dark water, she was submerged in Aion's essence. The outside world dimmed and faded as she entered a trance-like state, letting her inner self shift down into a much more primal plane of existence and awareness. It took her a moment to become settled.

It was always a strange sensation at first, no matter how many times she did it. The aether currents exploded into color around her. White noise and a single, faraway note rang out in the darkness. Like tricos returning to their long-lost herd, her own ancient chorus joined it in song, melding into a thousand not-quite voices strung together in a haunting almost-melody.

She let herself hang suspended for a moment as Aion's twisted, sorrowful requiem cu

* * *

rled between her toes and around her shoulders. It brushed against the edges of her thought, soft and smooth as newborn skin. Deep, wrenching grief seized hold of her heart.

She could do nothing but let it take her, flooding her senses and possessing her emotions until it slipped off and swam away into the darkness. A lingering sense of loss and regret stayed even as it left. The mourning song faded into the background, increasing and decreasing in volume like a heartbeat.

Fresh snow and gentle rain, the earthy smells of Gelkmaros and salty oceans of Levinshor drifted by as if on a breeze. Like everything else, they held an echoey quality, a step above memories but a step below substance. Without Aion, they flocked to her as a source of stability and normalcy.

She had a deeper understanding of aether than most. Even at a young age, she had felt the melodies and harmonies of song reaching out to her. It had been different then. The aether had been like birds, twittering and fluffing their plumage, landing on her shoulders and brushing at her ears with their soft feathers. The cataclysm had changed them, as it had changed everything, and now they were nothing but starved, thin fingers, grasping weakly to the skirts of anything that felt like the Tower.

But she wasn't here to have a spiritual experience or contemplate the nature of Aion's will. She had a job to do.

Pushing forward, she felt past the writhing tendrils, warm and cool and metal, to isolate the aether of the kisk from the rest. It was a rare occasion where her talents worked against her-there was so much more to sort through, so many more sensations. Carefully, she blocked out the useless background currents and listened for the long, slow beat of the kisk.

There-at the center. She honed her focus on the brightest spot, then gradually expanded her perception to include the smaller streams that flowed near it like pilot fish.

It would be different from the others. She ignored the insignificant notes, turning instead to a bright orange flash trapped in her peripheral senses. Looking at it straight-on made it shrink and fade out of sight, so she studied something else as she edged closer to it for a more detailed examination.

The orange aether made her think of cloth fibers and leather and sweat. _Detail oriented_ , it told her. _Conide cream soup_.

She grasped at one of the hairs of energy and tugged. Gooey, elastic-like strands of aether followed, drawn to the piece that had been separated. Pulling up towards reality, she could now see that the orange energy spiderwebbed across the stone kisk. It wrapped itself around the object like a chain, clinging to the infused stone and sticking to it with branching threads reminiscent of the inside of a pumpkin. The kisk, however, had been so compromised that the residual aether offered little resistance. She let the strand slide easily off the stone and allowed the rest to remain wrapped around the kisk with their reaching vines and ivy-like grip.

She held the image and sensations of the orange aether tightly in her mind, then took a deep breath and pulled herself out of the trance. She blinked once, slowly, then twice. The room gradually came back into focus.

The aether glistened against her ashen skin. It squirmed and flowed, trying to find its way back to the kisk, but a small surge of power on her part kept it in check.

"Alchetopin," she called, holding the aether steady, "Fetch my spellbook and a bag of dimensional fragments. Then check the dampening field and increase the power by forty percent."

Alchetopin emitted a puff of steam. " _Checkpoint: requested action does not meet minimum security requirements. Requested action inadvised. Similar existing project files: None. Query: add new file? Y/N."_

"Yes. Title: _That Damn Butterfly Had Better Worship My Toenails After This._ Personal access only. _"_

" _Created: Project "That Damn Butterfly Had Better Worship My Toenails After This". Access level: Four. Input purpose."_

Her hand clenched around the writhing energy. "Acquisition of allies to jailbreak the biggest douche in the universe. And probably regret it later." Who was she kidding. She was regretting it _now_.

" _Purpose archived. Aether signature and intention verified. Temporary security override authorized. Commencing…"_

Orange mist seeped from between her tense fingers. There were so many things, simple and complicated, that could go wrong if she proceeded with the next step.

 _Tik, tok, boom_.

A dimensional fragment rolled into her vision. Her smile was brittle and cracked.

It was time to collect on an old favor.

* * *

"Welcome to my humble abode."

Tael, Iskar, Faelar, and Mynlae stood in silence. Ath kept his arms flung wide and an exaggerated grin stretching his face as he displayed his home for all to see.

"Um...Ath, are you alright?" Mynlae tried to peer around his body to see if he was blocking something else from her field of vision. He cringed inwardly. He had been expecting this.

"I'm feeling quite fine, thank you."

Iskar strode past him, hands on her hips as she surveyed the space behind him. "You know, I understand not wanting to take a bunch of strangers to your dwelling. But if you didn't want to do that, couldn't you at least have enough dignity to bring us somewhere… well, _nicer_?"

Now _that_ stung. "This- ah, _is_ my home."

Tael raised an eyebrow. "Ouch."

As if to punctuate her observation, the last remaining beam creaked loudly before crashing down into the snow, landing with a disheartening _poot_.

He cringed again.

"It's not _that_ bad…" He argued weakly. It sounded unconvincing, even in his own ears. He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at the pile of wreckage behind him.

"Right," Iskar deadpanned. "I live in a shack cobbled on the back of a rock, but at least it's better than this. What do you sleep on, splinters?"

"I rebuild every day."

He could feel the heap of fallen poles and torn fabric mocking him from a distance. It didn't help his quickly plummeting self-esteem. Iskar was right, he thought half-jokingly. He should have just lied.

The priestess let out a low whistle. "That's determination. If your place gets ransacked that often, you must have a lot of enemies."

He shook his head. "No, actually. Just-,"

"The Gulag," Tael supplied with a groan. "You live on the Gulag belt."

Strike two out of four. He chuckled self consciously. "Well, yeah, there weren't many other places to go. I can't really defend myself like a warrior or a scout, and the neighborhood isn't especially friendly to newcomers."

"You coulda built yourself an igloo or something!" The scout threw her hands in the air with exasperation. "This place is for the dumbest of the dumb! The lowest of the low! The criminals who were so bad at being criminals that they were forced to become fish-feeders! Why are you _here_?!" She ran sharp, shining claws through her tangles. "Ugh, Nevermind. I should've known. Good news is, you've got nothing' to leave behind."

"Hey!" He rounded on her sharply. "Who said I was going anywhere?" This was not in the plan, if there had been a plan to begin with. He could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks. "I thought you were just going to…" he trailed off.

"To?" Tael cocked a hip and raised a pink eyebrow, finishing his thoughts for him.

"Er…"

What _had_ he been planning to do? Let these strange people barrage him with questions while he went to the work in the drana fields every day? Wait for Tael to get bored with picking his brain and finally realize that nothing was there? Even Mynlae, who had mostly limited the bulk of her attention to Faelar, quirked a teasing smile. The silent laughter in her eyes made his face heat up even more. If he had thought he was tinting pink before, he had to be glowing a head-to-toe magenta now.

Tael stepped forward, and suddenly she was _there_ , in front of him, running a sharp talon across the ridge of his jaw. The light, almost metallic contact slid effortlessly across his skin like a fish through water. A cool buzz shot down his spine, leaping through his nerves and branching into his fingertips. He braced against the contact. Energy fired though his bones as stinging electricity snapped instantaneously through vein and muscle. Two opposing forces were colliding and he felt his entire body go rigid, his mane standing up on end. Something fundamental, ingrained deep into his bones, was askew. Iskar made an odd sound. All thoughts froze abruptly and he sprung away from Tael like he had been scalded.

"Ah-no," he fumbled for words, breathless. "You- I don't-,"

Tael's expression quickly switched from intrigue to an amused smirk. The playful yet condescending glint in her eyes made him feel uncomfortably like an elroco in the paws of a bored karnif. There was something in the way she laughed that made her seem disconnected somehow, a faerie amongst mortals, alien and devoid of passion. She had been toying with him.

Embarrassment burned his skin with such fire that he was sure it was going to melt the snow around him. The after-effects of the touch still vibrated deep in his flesh. His fingertips were still buzzing. There had been no intimate desires in the moment. Had he been imagining it?

"Mage, are you alright?"

He blinked back to reality, realizing that while he had been lost in thought, his face had gone blank. He schooled his features into a familiar lopsided grin. "Yeah, I'm alright. Thank you for asking."

"Are you sure?" Mynlae squinted at him, tilting her head slightly. A lock of hair fell in front of her face, accentuating her concerned appearance. Despite her assault on "Ath the Daeva" earlier, she seemed to have forgiven the little encounter and engaged in mother-mode. "You look like you had your fur rubbed the wrong way."

He supposed that was kind of a stupid observation for her to make, because that was exactly what had happened, but after thinking on it for a moment he realized that she had just summed up in one sentence what he had needed upwards of three exotic comparisons to describe.

A resounding smack echoed across the frozen lake.

"Keep your hands off the clothie."

Breaking eye contact with Mynlae, Ath looked over to see Iskar standing over Tael, purple and pulsing with thick, draconic fury. A large mottled splotch of red took up half of Tael's face. Four shining scarlet beads welled up in a neat line near her ear. The lowermost swelled and burst, sending a thin trickle of blood sliding smoothly down her chin.

Tael recovered slowly, deliberately. That lazy smile slid into place, sparkling eyes gleaming beneath half-relaxed lids.

"Look at you, gettin' all worked up and I didn't even do anything." The taunting lilt in her voice carried through the air, lingering before fading into the icy breeze. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you're getting protective."

Iskar's eyes narrowed. Her feet dug into the snow, leaving a smeared mess of frigid white powder piled around her ankles. "You think I'm protecting him? You're the one that I need to look out for. So hands to yourself-no touching the mage, no touching the songweaver, and absolutely no touching _me_. I'm not traveling with a pervert."

Tael twirled a lock of hair around her finger. "Well that's too bad for you then."

Ath watched the confrontation between the girls with growing dismay. While he was touched that Iskar would step up and outright slap Tael on his behalf (at least, he thought so- with Iskar it was hard to be sure; she could have just been in a bad mood), he had been enjoying the peace that the priestess's quiet brooding had provided. Faelar sighed, and Mynlae began looking quietly to the skies in search of something more interesting. She looked tired. They all did.

"If you-,"

Tael held up a hand, effectively cutting off the threat. "I wasn't talking about _me_. And anyway, he's not my type. Trust me. I only swing that way for _special_ cases."

Iskar backed off slightly, evidently surprised and somewhat baffled. Ath raised an eyebrow, unaffected by the comment. "So if I'm not "special enough, that means you can leave. Please?"

He tried to keep the irritation out of his voice, but it was difficult when his unwanted companions wouldn't stop pulling each other's hair out. He had been doing just fine on his own.

Mynlae and Tael looked at each other.

"No," they chorused firmly.

"The least you can do is get along." He widened his stance and put on his most commanding face. Iskar snorted loudly. Faelar snickered.

"Oh, come on," he sighed. He didn't look _that_ silly, did he? "My home, my rules. Please Tael, Iskar, just call a truce until you get whatever it is you want. This needless squabbling is going to get someone hurt."

Iskar folded her arms in a clear gesture of _no_. Tael rolled her eyes.

"He's right," Mynlae cut in. "It's still early, but we shouldn't be fighting out here in the open like this. The patrols will be looking for any excuse they can to discipline us. Let's not bait them if we don't have to." Her voice hardened. "We can't let our guard down. As little as you might like each other now, it looks like we might be stuck together for a while. We'll have to get used to it and save the fights for later."

From the way she shifted closer to Faelar and wrapped her hand around his, it was obvious that she was more concerned for him than she was for them. But she had a point. Iskar grumbled and dug her claws into her arms, her lips twisting into a harsh scowl.

"Don't know what Pernon's like, but that's not how Altgard works." The priestess kicked a small puff of snow into the air. She still looked extremely sour, but the wisps of misty reddish light had faded from her eyes. "The only reason anybody ever has to have your back is just to stick a knife in it later."

Mynlae didn't falter. "When you are part of a group that you know and trust-,"

"Don't you get it? We don't have _any_ reason to trust each other! I don't trust you or that half-pint you're packing around-heck, I can hardly trust _me_. And in case that's not enough evidence for you, keep in mind that I don't have to wait for Tael to stab me from behind because she's already tried it once, and I've only known the mage for a morning. Anybody who would fall for this "teamwork" you talk about is either delusional or stupid."

"Iskar…"

Her glare did nothing but intensify. "If you want me to even consider "getting along" with you, I think you all owe me an explanation. You and you," she pointed to Tael and Mynlae/Faelar respectively. "Will spill. I'm sick of getting tossed bones and led around like a fish on a line. It's been hours, and I still have no idea why I'm here."

They sat in silence. Ath wondered to himself how she could be here and not know why. Hadn't she said she was a heretic? It didn't help his own understanding, but according to Tael he had something to do with them and for that reason Iskar should follow. He didn't, as far as he was aware, but that didn't really mean all that much in his case.

Iskar whirled on him, looking dangerously angry. "And you! You're in on this too. If I don't hear what I want out of them, I'm going to string you up by the ears and let the airons peck at you until you fill me in. I'm done with these vague hints."

Tael, to his surprise, was the first to cooperate. She sat down cross-legged in the snow across from Iskar. The air of smugness around her seemed to dissipate, "Ath, tell the nice priest where you were five years ago."

He had really been hoping that she would divert the conversation long enough for him to get the image of being picked apart by a flock of hungry airons out of his mind. Evidently, that had been too much to ask.

Now, all too soon, everyone's attention was on him again.

"I…" He squirmed where he stood, silently cursing Tael for not taking the discussion elsewhere. This was the one question he actually couldn't answer. How she had even picked up on his amnesia was still beyond him. "I don't-"

A distant crack and a thud interrupted might not have been any help, but never had he been gladder to hear the nightmarish thwumping of _it_ rapidly approaching.

"-think we should stay here any longer," he added hastily, seizing advantage of the situation. He had barely finished blurting out his sentence when his hand closed around Mynlae's wrist (she seemed the one least likely to take his head off) and he started hauling her away as fast as his legs could take them. It was neither an easy nor impressive exit, especially considering the six inches of fresh-fallen snow coating the ground and the added weight of Mynlae's extra armor.

Iskar and Tael exchanged glances, confused. Together, they turned to look at the source of the noise. The blood promptly drained from their faces.

" _Nyerk."_

Getting chased by the Gulag _sucked_. Two thousand years of balic rule hadn't seen it age, apparently, because lo and behold, there it was, over a millennium unscathed in all its shining, jut-jawed glory, two tons of living ice barreling towards them at a horrifying eleven meters per second.

It was entirely unfair.

Three arrows whistled through the air and glanced off the creature's frozen hide. Tael jumped back to put more space between her and the monster while she nocked another arrow. If anything, it had gotten _stronger._

A second volley of projectiles did absolutely nothing to slow the beast's advance. The arrows skittered off the hard, slick armor, dealing about as much damage as a twig might to a glacier. Except that glaciers didn't move at twice the speed of a sprinting sharptooth and to her knowledge didn't have teeth. Either the frozen monstrosity had gotten faster, or she had gotten slower. Probably both, she thought wryly.

The scrawny mage and the busty warrior were struggling away, flopping ungracefully through the snow with Iskar and the small songweaver waddling hurriedly after them. Damn snow. Damn shortbow. Damn _nyerk-sharded, flerp bagging, drak-milking Gulag_.

The beast in question remained entirely unfazed by her feeble attempts to hold it off. If she hadn't been so distracted, they wouldn't even be _having_ this problem. It could be heard from a mile off and still she hadn't thought to, oh, maybe _get out of the way_? Great going, Scout. Bonus points for observation. She was supposed to be _good_ at that.

She snarled, notching another arrow. She would just add it to her ever-growing list of failures. Daggers were useless. It was too risky to try to even get close enough to slip an attack in-and given the quality of the material, the arrow would probably just bounce off anyway. She drew her arm back.

The darn thing seemed to be nigh-impenetrable. If she killed the Gulag, maybe she could gut it and wear it as armor. It would probably be very cold.

But _killing_ it. At this rate, they would be lucky to get away. Stupid, stupid-it was a new record for carelessness, on her part. Her fingers slipped, and the arrows thumped into the snow in front of the rampaging ice behemoth.

"Tael? Hey, Pinkface! What are you doing?!"

Iskar's voice was an unexpected pleasantry. Furback just couldn't make up her mind. One minute she wanted to kill her, the next minute she was concerned for her safety. Tael planted her feet in the snow, with her back turned to the retreating Asmodians.

"Saving your ass, sweetcheeks. Don't you people know how to nyerkin' run?!"

Iskar was hesitating. Tael gritted her teeth. Oh well. She tried.

Her eyes never left the approaching threat. If she ignored the bloodstains, the Gulag was almost comical in its advancement. Its feet were too much too small for its body, resulting in a high-speed shuffling gait with a flurry of snow jetting out from either side. A small gulley was carved into the snow behind it; rather than run atop the surface like most of Altgard's fauna, the heavy Gulag sank beneath it, charging unchallenged through a solid amount of white puff as it ran across the packed ice on the bottom. The creature lurched drunkenly. Enough was enough.

She coaxed a small amount of aether into her fingertips as she readied her next shot. Explosive was easy, but it wasn't what she wanted to accomplish in the small window of opportunity she had. The string pulled taunt as she drew the arrow back, taking her time to push the energy into the wooden shaft. It was a crappy arrow. The wood, ordinary and dry, was already beginning to crack under the pressure.

She inhaled, held it, then exhaled, finding her center and doing her best to ignore the rapidly approaching hunk of death.

"Hey Frosty," she taunted loudly. "The local bar just called. They're out of crushed ice. Would you like to make a donation?"

Spectral chains erupted from the arrowhead and snaked along the arrow shaft, glowing and pulsing with ancient power. An orangeish-yellow sheen coated the whole weapon like a membrane.

The Gulag had been ranked tier fifteen-something, last she checked. Judging by its newfound swiftness, it was probably above twenty now. She cut off the push of aether into the arrow when her potential attack power reached tier thirty and let it cycle, waiting.

One…

Two…

Tower shards, she _hated_ shortbows. Her heart ached for the enchanted bow sitting uselessly in her cube. It would hit so much harder, shoot so much farther- she wouldn't have even needed to go to tier thirty. Twelve would have been enough to knock the blasted Gulag flat.

No. As always, such power would draw too much attention. She spared herself a small eye roll before leveling the bow at the Gulag. Shortbow it had to be. No matter how stupid it was. She didn't need the balaur breathing down her neck any more than they already were.

The big ugly beast was finally in range. She released the arrow.

The aetheric chains spiraled around the projectile as it snapped through the air. It made contact with its target with a crack and a blinding, bright orange starburst. The power she had embedded into the arrow snapped back like a spring. Her body was pushed violently backwards, lifted clear off the ground and shoved away from the Gulag. She snapped out her arms and seized hold of the two stragglers, dragging them along with her. The shot didn't have enough power to push the three of them the full twenty meters, but with a little help from Tael, it managed to give them at least fifteen of head start.

They landed ungracefully in the snow. The scout, being well accustomed to the sensation, was back on her feet almost the moment she landed. Faelar and Iskar, however, weren't so lucky. The two were sprawled vulnerably on their backs, floundering in the snow. Tael pulled Faelar up first, because he was shorter and lighter, then hauled Iskar to her feet. The moment both of them were upright, they took off running as fast as the footing would allow. Her companions were both swift, and they caught up to Mynlae and Ath with little difficulty.

"What was _that_?!" The warrior exploded, latching onto Faelar like a mosbear mother. It was an impressive feat, considering they were both pouring as much energy into their legs as they humanly could and whipping across the snow at an impressive seven meters per. The enraged howls of the Gulag echoed behind them.

"That," Tael panted, "-was my ace. Now we gotta run." As if they weren't already. Ath was now the slowest of the bunch. She took down her pace a notch so she could help him if need be.

She spared the Gulag a fraction of a glance. The arrow's chains had tangled around its feet, significantly hampering its speed. The skill had worked, but it wouldn't last long. The aether would hold for a minute at the very most, fifty seconds if they were extremely lucky, and forty-five if almost but not quite all the odds were in their favor. She frowned. However appealing initially, running wasn't the best option. As soon as it got free, the Gulag would just come after them again.

"A little warning would be nice next time," Iskar panted between strides.

"Who said there'd be a next time?" Tael snipped, an arrow already in one hand and her bow in the other. It wasn't an empty question. She couldn't slip another move like that under the radar.

Mynlae fell back to run alongside her. Her shoulders no longer broadcasted confidence and self-assuredness. The Gulag's reputation, it seemed, was enough to give even the loud warrior second thoughts.

"What's the plan?"

 _What's the plan._ The simple question caught her by surprise. Hey eyebrows shot up and she blinked at Mynlae, settling into an expression of vague amusement.

"What makes you think I got a plan?"

The Gulag let loose a guttural howl as it strained against the weakening chains. Mynlae and Faelar were running well, but Iskar and Ath seemed to be tiring.

"You're the one we have been following."

"Well technically priest's been following me who's been following mage who you and the pipsqueak are also bugging. So no, not really."

Mynlae probably would have sighed if she hadn't been out of breath. "You don't have a plan."

There was a vast ice plain to their left. A few fisherman waited at the holes in the thinner ice near the shore. One spared a glance in their direction as they sped by and heaved a sigh heavy with resignation, making no move to help them. Tael looked past the figures on the lake, past Faelar's bobbing head and the swollen wooden boats trapped in place half submerged beneath the ice. The snow dusted surface stretched out into the distance until it blended with the grey of the storm and became indistinguishable from the sky. It was impossible to judge the ice qualities from where they were.

She bit her lip, rolling the odella wad to the other side of her mouth. Biting down on it sent a flood of bittersweet juices across her tongue and an immediate calm sank into her bones as the aether invigorated her.

"I don't make plans. I have ideas."

Ath followed her gaze, catching onto her train of thought.

"That," he gulped, "-you should forget that one. Right now."

"Too late. Die by ice certain or die by ice maybe. Everybody," she raised her voice so that she could be heard above drumming hearts and feet, " Hard left onto the lake. When you hear my signal, run like a daeva with Reshki on your heels."

She didn't give them any time to think. She just took off without hesitation, digging her feet in the snow and bolting out to the thinnest part of the ice. The furbacks fishing there scattered, leaving a clear path for them to charge through.

"Faelar, Mynlae, stay to the left of me. Ath and Iskar, you're on the right. Spread out if you can. If I stop, keep runnin'. Got it? _Absolutely no stopping_."

She waited for a nod from each of them, dropping an arrow as they ran across the ice. The sounds of the struggling Gulag vanished. Monstrous two-beat footfalls shook the air. A trill of fear shuddered through the group. Her arrow's hold had worn off.

Faelar glanced at the creature thundering behind them, eyes riddled with terror. His chest froze, misted breath clearing from his face. She felt his step falter.

"We're out of time," he mumbled, quivering voice barely loud enough for her to hear. "We're going to die."

He was going into lock himself down with panic. Tael's heart leapt into her throat. Not here. Not now. If he stopped running, they would have to leave him behind.

No, not just him. Mynlae wouldn't go unless he went. Tael pressed her teeth together. The kid would be hard enough, but they couldn't afford to lose her as well. Not when her talent for aether perception could still be of use.

She had to get Faelar moving.

"Can it, kiddo. We're not outta time yet. If you run you'll make it."

He still didn't respond. She smacked him on the back, claws outstretched.

"I said _go_!"

To her immense relief, this was enough to push him forward. His foot slipped when Tael struck him, but he regained his balance and sprinted past, eyes latched onto Mynlae's back. Good. He would be okay. Tael checked the position of the Gulag. Too close for comfort but far enough that she could still make her hasty, reckless idea work. She slid an arrow onto her bow.

"Mage, can you use any fire attacks?" she asked, dropping the casual twang from her voice. The Faelar delay had cost them. There wasn't enough time to make a new plan if Iskar hadn't been exaggerating about his lack of magical ability.

"Didn't go so well last time," he replied quickly, voice hoarse. "Explosion."

Well...that wouldn't work. Tael cursed. It would be up to the other group members to make up the lost firepower. "Iskar, do you have smite?"

"Weak one. Gulag wouldn't even flinch."

"We're not aiming for the Gulag, so it'll do. Faelar?"

He took his wooden harp off his back and readied his bow. "My descant has a long charge. Is that okay?"

Fiery descant? She hadn't been expecting that. For a human, the kid had talent. The slow charging rate would make it difficult for them to get away in time. Difficult, but not impossible.

"Perfect. Mynlae, Ath, keep going in case we fall through. As for you two," she turned to Iskar and Faelar respectively. "On my mark, we're gonna turn around and throw everything we've got at the ice in front of ol' Gulag. Aim for the arrow I dropped to make sure you hit the right spot. When the ice breaks, we're gonna get the nyerk outta there. Got it?"

The two nodded solemnly. Mynlae, looking incredibly concerned, opened her mouth to protest. Ath beat her to it.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Tael," the mage warned. Uncertainty was etched all over his face.

"Trust me," Iskar interrupted. "She doesn't."

This made him laugh sharply. "I guess that's good enough for me."

Iskar nodded and cracked a grin. She turned to Tael. "Ready?"

The Gulag had almost reached the area designated by the arrow. She waved confirmation to Iskar, then dug her heels into the snow-covered ice and spun around. "Faelar, start charging."

He drew the bow across the battered harp strings, pulling an off-key melody from the curved instrument. The strings began to glow with aether. Tael counted two seconds, then pulled back her own arrow. Faelar's song crescendoed as the tension increased.

The priestess's fists began to glow with magic as she concentrated the atmosphere's feeble natural aether into her spell. Tael cracked open her own aether reserves to ease the demands on the weak field. Her body screamed in protest, straining and recoiling when she reached the iron wall of her limits. Her ears rang as the pressure built.

The Gulag was within feet of the arrow marker. She ordered fire.

The combined attack struck the ice witch a deafening crack. They didn't wait to watch the Gulag go under. Faelar and Iskar turned tail and fled, Tael racing at their heels. Fractures spiderwebbed beneath their feet, racing forward faster than they could run away. There was a massive, terrible crack. Tiny, freezing droplets sprayed Tael's back as the Gulag crashed into the water, arching over her head and speckling the snow in front. The monster thrashed and floundered, tearing the ice around it to pieces. The combination of the Gulag and the powerful magic strike had done more to the ice than she had wanted. The resulting waves snapped the lake's frozen surface, dealing damage comparable to the impact itself. Fifteen meters had been much too close. A piece of ice shifted beneath Tael's foot. She ran faster.

Her eyes focused on two distant figures with grim determination as the threat of falling in loomed behind them. Her throat stung and a dull ache throbbed in her head. Despite mounting nausea, she readied another arrow, prepared to help Faelar or Iskar if either or both of them fell in. She blinked rapidly in an attempt to shake the black spots from her vision. Pushing her limits had been a bad idea.

The ice began to stabilize as the initial shockwaves dissipated. The sound of snapping behind them slowly faded away, leaving the Gulag's howls and splashes ringing uncontested across the frozen lake.

They didn't slow down until their pounding feet had long been on solid ice. The rocky cliffs surrounding the lake took shape as they approached. Ath and Mynlae were waiting for them. The warrior's face collapsed with relief and she ran towards the songweaver, pulling him into a tight embrace.

"'M' okay, Mynlae," the boy squeaked out. His voice was muffled against her chest. "Don't have t'squeeze so hard…"

Tael chuckled despite herself, resting her hands on her knees as she caught her breath.

"Never doing that again," she said, just as Ath blurted, "Never do that again!"

She laughed, wincing slightly as she did so. "You can bet on it."

Splashes from the trapped Gulag drifted over to them in intervals. Ath offered an arm of support, which she refused. He stepped back, gazing into the distance.

"The fishermen aren't going to be too happy about that," he commented, referring to the lake's new pond. "That ice hasn't been broken in a long, long time."

"Well, at least it's not full of holes like abex cheese," Iskar pointed out. "At least _we're_ not full of holes like abex cheese." She pointed a clawed finger at him harshly. "I still blame you for that, by the way. What were you thinking, crazy clothie, camping out on the Belt like some kind of idiot?!"

Mynlae let go of Faelar to step between them quickly. "Please Iskar, at least catch your breath before you start shouting."

She looked like she wanted to argue, but her heavy panting forced her to take a minute before she could even reply. She glowered at Mynlae and Ath both, mouth uncharacteristically without argument.

Tael straightened. "Let's at least get some shelter before the storm sets in again." The snowfall had been moderate all morning, but knowing Altgard weather it would be a bad idea to stay out on the featureless lake when the skies let loose. It was easy to get disoriented, and freezing to death wasn't how she planned on going out. All five of them had managed to survive the Gulag. She didn't want to cramp her victory with something as mundane as having someone die of hypothermia.

"She's right," Mynlae said, eyeing the clouds apprehensively. "Let's go."

Grateful for the support, Tael let her lead the way. Though the ice was steady, the ground had yet to stop swaying beneath her as a consequence of her last shot. She swallowed and pressed her free hand to her temple, keeping her bow held tightly in the other. They were going slowly now, which to helped settle her churning stomach. Her throat burned.

She laughed, eliciting odd stares from the others. She was _so very_ out of shape. So out of shape, in fact, that it had gone full circle from completely unfunny to hilarious irony. She had spent too many hours at the underground taverns for her own good.

No, she corrected after a thought. The ale and secrets were definitely worth a little flabbiness here or there. She glanced at Iskar from the corner of her eye.

She could really go for a drink or five.

Ath the clothie wasn't doing so well either, though for what looked like entirely different reasons. His face had gone chalky, grey-hued skin contrasting violently with his crimson hair. He looked like he was going to be sick.

As she watched him, he stumbled, nearly doubling over as he suddenly clutched at his chest. Wisps of orange mist curled from the corners of his mouth, drifting up and away from a face screwed tightly with pain. Mynlae went rigid. She stopped immediately, a hand already poised on her sword, and turned to look at him with bulging eyes.

Tael took that as her cue. She pushed down her queasiness and forced aside the sinking feeling in her own gut and quickly moved between them. No need for Mynlae to do anything rash. Faelar, who looked entirely too interested in the whole situation, put a hand on his mentor's shoulder, seemingly having similar thoughts.

Iskar halted, barely having recovered from her sprint from the Gulag. She picked up on hostility like a worg catching the scent of blood. Her eyes slitted. "What's going on?"

Ath wiped his mouth, grimacing. His hand came away clean.

"S-sorry, just all the running I guess…"

He didn't look very sure about it. His hands trembled as he wiped them on his sides.

Tael felt her heartbeat quicken. A Gulag chase hadn't been enough to get her adrenaline pumping, but suddenly her blood felt jittery in her veins. She could feel the aether saturating around his person, settling into a pattern that wrapped around the mage like an embrace. It turned some gear in her head, like a childhood aroma long forgotten.

Mynlae watched with wide eyes, frozen with her hand clenched motionlessly around her sword. None of the others seemed to be aware that the spell was even taking hold. Even Ath himself seemed to be trying to brush it off.

"I'm fine, let's keep going before it gets too cold."

The magic was foreign, not his, and carried the same signature as the enchantment she and Mynlae had sensed clinging to his aura. _Books_.

Could it be… ?

It _was_.

She knew this magic.

In one swift move, Tael unsheathed her dagger and lunged at him, hand outstretched.

"No-!" Iskar cried, but before she could take a step, Tael's dagger had returned to its place. A thick lock of freshly sliced red hair was gripped tightly in her fist. Ath hadn't shrieked, but he looked like he really wanted to. The surprise on his face was replaced with relief and he started to breathe again.

Faelar and Iskar stood dumbfounded. Mynlae watched the aether curl around Ath. Her eyes moved subtly, transfixed on currents only she could see. The spell was almost finished, but was powerless to stop it. In seconds, her only link to the past would slip out of reach.

It was too soon. But at the same time, too late.

Maybe that meant it was just right.

"We're going to find you. You'll be okay. I promise."

Mostly empty words, but the spell was whipping into full force and she only had seconds before it took hold. To the outside eye, there was a slight orange shimmer to the air around him as the aether finally grew strong enough to manifest visibly. The mage's mouth moved wordlessly as Iskar shouted something unintelligible. Tael saw grasping limbs. A distortion roughly the size of a fist appeared near the center of his chest. Whispers drifted to her ears, soft and distant, chanting.

Then, as suddenly as it had started, the magic vanished. The ancient aether crackled out of existence, slipping away before her eyes.

In the space the mage had occupied, there was only empty air.

"My liege."

 _ **You're late. You were supposed to call in four hours ago. Lord Beritra will not be pleased.**_

"Circumstances wouldn't let me call sooner. Where is the Dragon Lord?"

 _ **That is none of your concern, impudent worm. Report your progress before I lose my patience.**_

"Apologies, General.

"The heretics are still in the Altgard vicinity. If any of them are daevas, they're hiding it well. One of them in particular interests me, but something...came up. I need more time. This isn't the place for details, but trust that I have reason to want to wait and see how this unfolds. I request that an extermination squad is withheld until I have gathered more information."

 _ **Waiting may be Beritra's way, but it is not mine. Give me good reason to listen to you, meat, else I will send out the squads now and make sure you're taken out with the rest of that Aion-filth.**_

"If they lead me to the information I think they will, Lord Beritra will be exceptionally pleased with your involvement. Based on the Dragon Lord's absence, I suspect a new Lieutenant may be needed soon. You wouldn't want to pass up an opportunity for a promotion."

 _ **It's adorable, the lengths you trash will go to for nestlings. Very well, for now I will humor your foolish hopes, if only for my own benefit. Play your little detective game. I will withhold the execution squads.**_

 _ **If at any time you fail to meet expectations, keep in mind that Lord Beritra can replace anyone anytime he wants. In the Darken Lord's inner circle, it seems, supply is much higher than demand. And you know how the good dragon loves his playthings.**_

"U-understood."

 _ **You sound nervous.**_

"Never, General. I will not disappoint."


	10. Ch 8: Secret-Keepers

_Morheim, Irkalla_

It was dark, and warm, and familiar. He grasped for it halfheartedly, but it had already dissipated. It didn't matter. He was too tired anyway. Sleep sounded much more appealing.

Lots of tiny voices strung an incoherent melody in his ears. It wasn't a lullaby by any definition of the word, but it was comforting. Much nicer than the alternative. Whatever it was. Sleep felt very nice. Someone was going to wake him up, any minute now. He cringed in anticipation. Wake him up to go do...something. He didn't know what. Just something. Something he didn't like.

He had nearly slid back into the beautiful, dark, _warm_ sleep. It was really warm, actually. His mouth edged its way into existence. Dry. Tasted bad. Tongue too big, lined with little jagged indents. There were gaps where some teeth were supposed to be. Hot. He was hot.

Sleep would not take him back. He curled up into a scratchy material, like the ettin wool that was only available to the rich and most faithful. It felt lovely. But he wanted to go back to sleep.

Against his wishes, the world gradually made itself known as new sensations came slowly into focus. It smelled like burning candles, metal, books, and a sharp, smoky odor he couldn't quite place. It was musty, and far too warm. _Underground_ , his brain sluggishly supplied. A jolt of panic snapped down his spine.

He didn't like waking up in strange places. He really didn't.

His eyes snapped open and his internal clock did a somersault. There was barely any light to see his surroundings. It wasn't supposed to be evening yet. His brain took a minute before reminding him that there was no daylight underground, so it didn't really matter if it was bright or not. The knowledge left him even more lost than before. He was so not ready for this again.

" _Welcome back, Athiar._ "

Ice-cold surprise sent him shooting into the air, hairs on end and heart hammering. He could practically feel hot breath on his neck. Though even and measured, the soft voice sounded loud and raspy in his ear. He could feel the thrumming presence of someone sitting far too close for comfort.

Nope, not today, not tomorrow, not _ever_. His hand came smashing down beside his head where his latest kidnapper's face was supposed to be. A harsh bolt of pain stabbed up his bone as his unprotected arm slammed into the hard bars of the cot.

A creak and a crash resounded through the room, and he found himself staring at the ceiling once more.

Well. What a great start to a great new day.

"Typically people get out of bed feet first, but I like your originality. Very modern."

Ath yelped and scuttled backwards on all fours until his mane was pressed against the tipped cot. The strange, bright orbs illuminating the room left shadows pooled near the floor where their halos of light could not reach. They hid everything except the speaker's general shape, which appeared as a slightly darker shade of black moving in the darkness.

"Who are you?" he stammered. "Please don't kill me, please-," A humorless chuckle rolled from the shadows around him. "That's a pretty tall order in this day and age," a flat, darkly sarcastic female voice replied. "You should count yourself lucky. I've got other plans for you." His captor's tone lightened considerably, "And they don't involve murder and dismemberment. You can relax."

A pair of golden eyes glinted in the dark. He didn't feel like relaxing at all.

"My name is Mina," she said. Ath flinched back as the woman finally stepped out of the safety of the dark, the orbs glowing with increased intensity as she did so. The unnatural light cast sharp shadows on her features, punctuating large, sunken eyes and hollow cheeks that made her appear centuries older than her youthful build suggested. Dull violet hair cascaded down her waist and framed her face with tangles.

"I keep the records," she added upon seeing his reaction. "Among other things. Let's say you owe me a favor."

Her body was young, but she was old. Too old, far too old. He was watching a corpse. There was a corpse talking to him.

"You're dead," he said. The statement flopped from his mouth and hung in the air, stagnating the space between them. She smiled emptily.

"Yes," she said slowly. "I suppose I am."

He blinked, momentarily dumbfounded by the response. She ran her thin, birdlike hands through her hair with slumped shoulders. Her ancient eyes misted over as her gaze flickered briefly towards a lone lantern pulsing light onto the darkest part of the wall. "Just like everybody."

"Huh?" he said intelligently, not quite over the surprise of still being alive. She stared at the wall for a few moments more before shaking herself back to reality and turning her attention towards him.

"Nothing. Though I do appreciate the occasional poem, I didn't summon you to entertain me with metaphors. I'm a scholar of the sciences, not art and fancy. Stand up, you're cowering like an Ellie. It's unbecoming."

He scrambled to his feet. The term sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place his finger on where he had heard it before. He took it as an insult.

"You did just kidnap me," he pointed out. "You can't exactly blame me for being a little bit on edge."

"No, that would be unfair of me. Actually, it's a considerable improvement from last time." She looked him up and down, as if appraising him. He squirmed uncomfortably.

She was crazy. Whatever she was planning, he just had to go along with it until he could find a way to escape. He could get back to his ice hut. Drana fields. Return to his predictable life of getting robbed and beat on by patrols. No thieves, no books, no heretics, just him and the balaur. He didn't care for his exciting new lifestyle at all.

Because it got him into messes like this.

As the woman rambled off numbers he didn't understand (she didn't seem to be talking to him anyway), he scanned the room for anything that could be a potential exit. His heart sank as his fears were confirmed: the large room had stone-lined walls on all sides. The only way out that he could see was an open doorway. The light didn't reach into the corridor beyond, leaving what was beyond completely unknowable. He shifted his weight from foot to foot nervously.

"I had Alchetopin run some scans on you while you were asleep. Your aether levels, though low, are stable. You're free of major injuries and despite your current fitness level, are in overall workable condition. Circumstances considering, of course. I want to start your training as soon as possible."

He resigned to the fact that unless there was a secret exit, the door was his only option. The woman was small, and while he probably could physically overpower her if he needed to make a quick break for it, there was nothing suggesting that she couldn't and wouldn't turn him into an inquin the moment he tried to flee. Inquins were not fast.

He would have to wait until she was asleep or gone before making any attempt at a getaway. He was considering the likelihood of successfully knocking her unconscious when her words finally caught up to him.

"Wait-training?"

He got no reply; she had already whisked out of sight behind the many, many, many shelves of books. Parchment and papers clung to every visible surface. Torn out sketches of strange contraptions and half-assembled things sat proudly atop the tables, accompanied by shining heaps of valuable metals that were piled against the wall. Rare adamantium gears and drenium springs dotted the congested floor like mushrooms that had been allowed to grow and accumulate over time.

A nagging feeling of unease that had been pecking at the back of his neck steadily grew more insistent. Aside from the odd clean spot here or there, the cave-hideaway, dwelling, whatever it was- was in a complete state of disarray. If there was any form of organization to the madness, it wasn't one he could see. An imposing metal weapon caught his attention. The massive hunk of machinery shone predominantly blue and black, gleaming like a proud stallion atop its pedestal. Rolled and banded parchments were stacked in a pyramid beside it, out of the way.

He squinted, shaking his head. Something about it didn't look quite right. It felt like it needed to have more...action. More urgentness. Instead, it just sat lifelessly, with all its tools and papers gathered up and neatly tucked away.

"Well we can't have you causing explosions when you're not supposed to be, so yes, training," Mina said finally, her voice muffled from behind the shelves. The sound of rustling paper emanated from her direction. "Alchetopin's updating your file. I need you to state your name, approximate age, occupation, aether class, specialization, and ascension status."

For the first time he became aware of a large metal bucket with glowing eyes and lots of moving parts staring at him with unnerving intensity.

"Gyah! What _is that_?!" He leapt back with the speed and agility of a frightened kitter. It emitted a puff of steam with a rattling wheeze. The glowing orbs of light in its "head" flashed a little brighter.

It was hard to be sure, but he got the impression that he was being challenged.

"That's Alchetopin. He calculates, scans, and remembers things for me. With a few other bells and whistles, of course. Some of them literal."

"That's a _he?_ " Ath squeaked incredulously. The strange thing scooted towards him, wheels creaking ominously as it went. He took a nervous step back.

"Well when you live alone for several hundred years, you get a bit _lonely._ Pardon me for personalizing my only companion."

He blinked. "Oh," he stammered, inching away from the robotic creature slowly. "That's...er, nice."

Mina stepped out from behind the shelves, arms laden with books and scrolls. She dumped them on the nearest table and scowled. "Stop gawking around and answer the question, Athiar. Aion's grief, if I'd known you were this flimsy underneath I would have kept the other one."

" _What_ are you talking about?!"

"Would you prefer to write it down?"

"Why?" he snapped, balling his fists. "You seem to know more about me than I do, considering that you _already have me filed_."

"Maybe I do, but I still need you to give me the information. If you're going to be of use to me, I need to know what you've done with yourself since we last saw each other. Understand?"

For several seconds, neither of them said anything. Something clicked in Ath's mind.

Wild hair.

Golden eyes.

Library.

Books.

He'd seen it all before.

" _Ath, tell the nice priest where you were five years ago."_

"You knew me," he said hoarsely, realization draining the blood from his face. "You're-you're a link."

Her eyebrows disappeared beneath her unkempt fringe. "Not a very good one, if that's what you're thinking. If you really want to learn your past, I'm afraid I won't be much help."

She was too casual. The relaxation in her tone was calculated, the cadence too perfect. He decided to take a risk.

"You're lying, aren't you?"

To his surprise, Mina's lips slipped into a small, mischievous smile. "Well of course not." She gathered the scrolls she wanted and glided to the other side of the room, brushing his sleeve lightly as she passed him. "I can't give away all my secrets now, can I?"

Golden, flowing robes trailing her like stardust, lighter than silk and colder than sunlight. Her back was straight and proud. Her tangled hair caught the light at just the right moment, for a split second appearing as smooth, glimmering tresses.

He blinked. There she stood, in her rough wool robes, shoulders hunched and grease stains smeared across her hands and arms. Dark circles pooled under her red-rimmed eyes. She stopped to pick off a small nut that had gotten stuck to the bottom of her foot, flinging it at one of the piles on the wall once it was in her hand. It bounced off a piece of scrap metal and rolled off the pile where it came to rest near Ath's heel.

He was in a library of knowledge. And somehow, in his desire to make sense of his situation, he'd ended up more confused than when he started. She was answers. He had questions.

Perhaps he could put off his great escape for just a little while longer.

* * *

 _Altgard, Irkalla_

" _Mynnie!"_

" _Jamik? Jamik where are you?!"_

" _I'm not anywhere, Mynnie. I'm dead, remember? The winged man killed me."_

" _Oh Jamik, please...I'm going to find the Bookkeeper, I promise. They'll know where Lady Triniel is, and once I find her, I'll get you back. Warrior's word."_

" _You promised nothing could keep us apart."_

" _I know I did, Jamik. I know, and I promise we will see each other again soon. Just hold on."_

" _People keep telling me to let go, Myn. I never see them but they're whispering to me all the time. They say I should return to the flow of aether."_

" _No! Jamik, don't listen to them! If you do, I wouldn't be with you anymore. We couldn't ever be together again. Lady Triniel can't bring you back if you go! Just hold on a little while longer. I'll find her. I promise."_

" _Okay Mynnie. I'll wait. I don't want to leave you."_

" _Jamik…"_

" _Don't worry, I'm not lonely. The bright people are here with me. They're not awake, but they're not dead like I am."_

" _They're not human, Jami. Only daevas can join the aether without dying."_

" _There's a lot of them, Myn. They're different from us. I can't count them all."_

" _It's okay, Jami. Just stay away from them. And remember-"_

Mynlae blinked back tears as her connection finally shattered, leaving her speaking her thoughts aloud to the cold, empty air.

"I love you."

The frosted lake gave no answer, only a harsh whooshing as the storm blew a gust of snow across the frozen surface. Footsteps crunched as someone walked up behind her.

"If you're going bonkers, can you at least do it quietly?"

Mynlae turned around to see Iskar standing over her shoulder. She looked sour, as usual.

"Sorry."

"Here." A heavy weight settled on her back. Mynlae suddenly realized how cold she had been. "Tael said you're no good frozen to death. She told me to give it to you."

"Oh." Mynlae wiped at her eyes quickly. The tears had already gone frigid. "Tell her I said thanks."

A scoff. She could practically hear the priest's eyes roll. "No way. 'Nothin' but a bottle o' antidoze'? What a load of draknyerk. That lying porgus won't be hearing one kind word from my mouth for a long while."

Mynlae had to crack a smile at that. The warm, familiar sense of Jamik's aether faded at last, leaving her alone on the lake with Iskar. Her heart longed to feel it again, but it was too late. The moment was gone.

"What have you been doing out here, anyway? You've been sitting out in the middle of the storm for fifteen minutes, even after we went to all the trouble of finding a sheltered spot."

"Oh," Mynlae pushed herself to her feet. "Just thinking, admiring the view."

 _Talking to the dead._

"The view, huh?" Iskar chuckled, squinting into the storm. "Heh."

"I like watching the snow move with the wind. I think if I ever met a painter, that's what I'd like them to paint."

 _The snow moves a lot like the aether._

"Oh yeah? Well if I was a painter, I wouldn't waste my time painting snow-there's always snow. I think…" She hesitated, considering. "I think I would paint people. Because people disappear, and then they're gone. And that's it. You never see them again." She paused. "And then I would die, because art is forbidden and the balaur would drag me around behind a tipolid until I was bleeding out my eyes and my heart was strewn across the road. So no, you'll probably never meet a painter."

Mynlae sighed, turning her eyes away from the stormy sky. "There's no harm in dreaming, is there?"

"Course there is. When you dream, you just set yourself up for disappointment," the priest replied easily. She folded her arms over her chest, tapping her claws against her upper arm. "Anyway, I'm headed back to the shelter. If you want to sit here until your blood freezes, be my guest."

"I'll be there in a minute."

"Don't take too long, then. Your runt's getting worried."

Mynlae straightened with a start. Iskar was right-she could probably tune in to Jamik's aether signature again, but Faelar needed her. She would have to talk to the spirit later; in the meantime, she had another child to attend to.

"I'll walk with you, in that case. Wait up."

"Whatever."

Quickly, Mynlae stood and jogged to catch up with Iskar. Despite her relative friendliness, the silver-haired healer looked even more sullen than usual. Mynlae watched her absently.

Iskar turned to face her with her darkest glare, all traces of patience gone. "Do you mind?"

"Sorry."

The uncomfortable silence that had lingered between them settled like a stone wall once more. It wasn't until they had almost reached the camp that Mynlae decided to speak up.

"You look disappointed," she remarked quietly. Despite her non-threatening tone, she could feel irritation and enmity rolling off the healer in waves. Ever since the mage's vanishing act, she had become increasingly abrasive, throwing insults and snapping at anyone who dared so much as look at her.

"Disappointed?" Iskar snarled, kicking a puff of snow. "Since when do you care? All that matters to you is Faelar."

Jealousy? No, it wasn't anything so personal. Resentment? Bitterness? No matter how hard she tried, Mynlae couldn't place the source of the anger in Iskar's tone.

"Faelar is very important to me," she answered carefully, "-but that doesn't mean to the exclusion of supporting others."

Iskar stamped into the ground with more force than she needed. Her foot sank ankle-deep into the snow. "I don't need support. If you're going to go into one of your little "friendship" speeches, stop talking or I'll dump you in the lake."

"You act like the world's against you."

Iskar groaned, moving to face the warrior. Stress and frustration lined her features. "Listen Mynlae. I get that you're trying to help, and maybe you've always had someone there watching your back, looking out for you. Well, you're naive. People lie. People turn against you. You get used and left behind. There's no such thing as loyalty. If they don't betray you, they die. They go missing. In the end, all you're left with is yourself."

"You're upset."

"I'm not upset."

"You're disappointed."

Iskar threw her hands into the air, scowling heavily. "Alright! I'm disappointed! I have every right to be disappointed! Everything was going awry but like an idiot I still get my hopes up, Tael drags me around like a fish, then _poof_! My chances slip away right in front of my nose. I don't even know what I was expecting to get out of him." She picked up her pace as the glow from the campfire brightened. "As soon as the storm clears up, I'm going home."

"Tael said we can find him. But you started yelling and stormed off before she could finish." Mynlae quickened her step to match Iskar's accelerated pace.

"Yeah? And Tael's a big liar. I don't even know why I'm here. I don't even know why any of us are here. Why do you trust her so much?"

"You know," Mynlae said, "You should give Tael a chance. She's not so bad."

Iskar scoffed. "Don't give me that nerk. She's only keeping me around because I have something she wants. I'm done following her like a blind ayas, feeding her sick amusement. I'm leaving. If you know what's good for you, you should too."

"Iskar…" The warrior rubbed her head with one hand wearily. "You can say whatever you want, but Tael's telling the truth. We can find him."

The priest finally whirled on her. "And that's supposed to matter to me? I'm supposed to be looking for an Em-," she quickly backtracked, paling. "An extremely rare medicine. Finding an incompetent mage isn't going to help me do that."

Mynlae filed the slip-up away for future thought.

"I thought you cared about him."

It was Iskar's turn to rub her head. "I _do._ But if you haven't noticed yet, I'm dying." She brushed her fingers across her wrist in what looked like an unconscious motion. "I don't have time to play hero, running all over Irkalla looking for someone who's probably dead."

Mynlae studied her quietly. She had noticed something off about the healer's aether and had suspected rot; her admittance only confirmed it. Carefully, she extended her senses to feel out Iskar's aether currents. The energy displayed itself before her like a map, clotting, decaying, and scattering even as she watched.

Iskar was dead walking.

"When you put it that way, I suppose it makes sense," Mynlae said quietly. "But please consider-,"

A swift, Faelar-colored blur ramming into her midsection cut her sentence short. Her heart fluttered with warmth despite the chilled wind. Iskar harrumphed. Mynlae ignored her, folding her hands over Faelar's back and burying her fingers in his mane.

"Mynlae, are you okay? You weren't moving."

"I'm fine, Faelar. I was just watching the wind."

He, at least, was alive. She sighed, inhaling his warmth. She spent far too much time talking to dead people. She wouldn't let him slip through her fingers.

Not like her brother had.

"You're getting that look again."

She pulled away and placed her hands on his shoulders, chuckling. "But you couldn't see my face. How would you know what I looked like?"

That mischievous smirk she had grown to know and love tilted across his face. "I could just feel it. Could I borrow some power shards please? I'm all out."

"Sure thing," she answered with a smile. She slipped a hand into her cube, pulling out a bundle of power shards and handing them to him. "Remember to not keep them active. They're getting hard to find."

"Right," he said, stepping easily out of the way as Iskar stomped past, brows lowered and lips tight. "Anyway, Tael said she's made some progress finding the mage but she says she needs your help."

Mynlae blinked. "Alright then. I'll go talk to her in a minute."

The moment Iskar was out of earshot, Faelar moved close to Mynlae, suddenly fidgety. His voice dropped to barely a whisper. "Can Lady Death really bring Faeris back?"

Faeris. His twin sister. She smiled sadly. "I can't say for sure, Faelar. We'll just have to ask her."

"And the Bookkeeper knows where the Lady is, right?"

"They say the Bookkeeper knows everything. If anyone knows, they will."

"Alright."

The silence that followed ate at her. She felt guilty for lying to him, but didn't have the heart to tell him that she couldn't feel his sister's signature. Her death had been over a year ago. She had become one with the flow of aether. She doubted even the legendary Lady Triniel could bring someone back from that.

"Mynlae, do you even know if Lady Triniel is still alive?"

Faelar's quiet question pulled her from her thoughts. The doubt in his tone set her on edge.

Because he was right. She had no proof. Just a hunch, a hope, and a mage with an interesting seal, and now she lacked even that. She forced herself to put on her most reassuring grin.

"I'm almost positive that the Bookkeeper is. They'll know. We can only take this one step at a time."

"Okay."

She didn't know. The Bookkeeper could be centuries dead, or nothing but the fabricated piece of folklore she feared it was. Triniel could have easily been extinguished beneath Beritra's claws, living on only in the whispers of distorted stories.

Her gut, however, told her otherwise. And no matter how poor the odds or how long the shot, her intuition had never failed her.

No, she corrected, closing her eyes. It wasn't intuition. The aether was churning, drawing her towards this. It was the aether that had never been wrong.

 _Something is coming,_ it whispered.

Her hands dropped off of Faelar's shoulders. Tael had requested her help. It wouldn't do to keep her waiting.


	11. Ch 9: Fashionably Late?

Ath hadn't quite turned out to be the powerful sorcerer she had been hoping for, but what her reluctant recruit lacked in firepower he made up for in entertainment value.

" _Brrt!_ _Data does not match current archives. Updating file with new information. Old file successfully copied and archived in PROJECTS. Location: OB-184. Access level: Three+. Adding updated version to: PROJECTS. Location: That Damn Butterfly Had Better Worship My Toenails After This. Access level: Four."_

There was a loud rattling as Alchetopin rolled around to where the poor mage lay squashed on the floor, beeping proudly.

" _Name: Athiar. Approximate age: 81. Occupation: Don't Come Any Closer. Aether Class: I Mean It Stay Back. Specialization: Get The Nyerk Away From Me. Ascension Status: -Unintelligible Yelling-."_

Ath struggled against the fallen bookshelf that was pinning him to the ground. Several books slid off his head, adding to the pool of literature on the floor around him.

"No!" he squawked, flinging a copy of _Interesting Asmodae_ off of his face, "I told you! My name is Ath! Just Ath!"

Alchetopin whirled in a circle around him, waving his scanners in a gesture that she smugly recognized as mischievous glee.

" _Veee!_ _Data does not match current archives. Updating file with new information. Adding updated version to: PROJECTS. Location: That Damn Butterfly Had Better Worship My Toenails After This. Access level: Four. Name: Just Ath. Approximate age: Eighty-,"_

"No, no!" He grimaced as the bookshelf shifted, flattening him further. "You're getting the numbers backwards again!"

" _Updating file-,"_

"MINA! I need help!"

Despite his oh so dire situation, she couldn't help but crack a smile. A few short years without his memories dragging him down had done wonders. Even if he had turned out to be weaker-willed than she would have liked, she had to admit that it was an enormous improvement from trigger-happy wreck of three years ago.

"I can see that. Why don't you ask Alchetopin?"

He groaned and ceased his struggling, resigning himself to his fate. "If I didn't know better, I would say you are enjoying this."

"Perhaps."

She observed the mounting frustration on his face as he realized she would not be offering assistance. "I said I would answer the question," he said through gritted teeth, "-but your friend is making it a bit difficult. Also, as I'm sure you're aware, I'm a little _stuck_."

Indeed he was. She was proud to see that he had a backbone in there after all-though she still wasn't sure if she wanted to keep him or not.

"That's no way to talk to a kidnapper, useless mage. Just get up if it's causing such a problem."

He gave her the most sarcastic, deadpan expression she'd seen in years. "You tied my feet together with iron shackles."

Indeed she had. A minor detail she had forgotten in the chaos of planning, and one that had the mage looking increasingly disgruntled. She cleared her throat to hide her chuckle. "A reasonable and necessary precaution. Kidnappees can be expected to try and escape, and we can't be having any of that."

She heard him groan. Alchetopin rattled off a series of insignificant stats in response. Mina smiled to herself-she had programmed her robot well.

As amusing as watching the mage was, she had other matters to attend to at the moment. Acquiring Athiar without any difficulty had been a small victory in itself- but that didn't make finding another four or five any easier. Loyalty and competency weren't easy to come by. She stepped to the table containing all her plans, studying the printouts tacked to the wall with a concerned eye.

Due to her immense caution, the pool of candidates she had to choose from was practically nonexistent. Even the heretic circles were only vaguely aware of her existence-the Balaur were too fond of torturing them for information for her to trust them with any sort of knowledge regarding her status and whereabouts.

"Mina."

Even if Ath wasn't what she wanted, she didn't have much in the way of options.

"Alchetopin, aether readings. Inggison anomaly."

" _Vrrrt! Notable increases: Inggison- 0.0025%. Notable decreases: Inggison- 0.0053%. Anomaly. Location: Undirborg vicinity. 0.0028% aether unaccounted for. Additional scans recommended. Inconclusive data. Bzz!"_

"Thank you, Alchetopin. That is all."

She leaned against the table wearily. That was a big drop. She pulled a fresh piece of paper in front of her and scratched the readings down with a heavy hand.

The deterioration was more concerning than she had initially thought. Millennia of imprisonment at the hands of the balaur, it seemed, had finally started taking their toll. She didn't have much time. His aether was dispersing. He was falling apart.

Kaisinel was dying.

"Mina."

She ignored him again. She had to work quickly. There was no saying how rapidly the deterioration would increase over the course of the coming weeks. As much as it burned her to admit, his knowledge and power was too great to lose if there was to ever be hope for reclaiming Atreia.

There would be no freedom for Ath for a while.

"Mina, I'm bleeding all over your stuff."

All thought processes froze. In the blink of an eye she was nearly stepping on his face, quickly swooping in to save the endangered books from an unwanted new ink job. She scowled, clutching the titles that had been nearly damaged. A thin stream of blood trickled down the side of Ath's face and dripped slowly off his jaw.

"Rule Twenty-Four. Do not bleed on my things."

"O-okay." He blinked as she started walking away. "W-wait! Aren't you going to help me?"

"Actually, I think I prefer you there. I can make sure you don't try to leave. Besides, you _are_ the one responsible for knocking it over."

"Alchepoptin, please?"

The robot did more than just ignore him. He folded up his feeler appendages, ceased all twittering, and rolled away.

"He left!"

Mina sighed. "Well that would be because you offended him. What were you expecting?"

"I said please!"

When she didn't answer, he changed tactics.

"Mina," he said, taking a deep breath. "If you don't help me get out from under this shelf, I will help myself, and your whole library will suffer for it."

The scholar froze in mid-step. She had seen enough of his injuries-burn patterns typical of minor explosions- to know what that entailed.

"No," she said quickly. "No, no, absolutely not. We are going to put a stop to that." She set the books and scrolls down in a pile where she stood and her soft yet purposeful footsteps padded towards him. Ath was not going to be blowing up her library. The day he would be needed wasn't slow approaching, and she had to turn him into something at least somewhat useful before then. Though her seal probably had something to do with it, explosive, half-released magic was unacceptable. She stopped next to him while he looked on hopefully.

"We're going to start your training now," she said forcefully, internally praying that she wasn't making a colossal mistake. "Don't worry, the library is encased in a dampening sphere that will make aether undetectable by the balaur. You can use as much magic as you like."

"Wait-," he gaped. "Now?"

She leaned against the nearest standing bookshelf, studying its contents before selecting one. "Yes, now. Start listening, please. I don't talk because I like to hear myself, you know."

"You do realize you're asking me to do something really, really illegal," he remarked with a raised eyebrow, lifting his head as much as his position would allow.

Her luminous eyes rolled to the ceiling as she wondered how, as a mage, he could possibly be so thick. "You are sitting in a library filled with books that have been banned since Beritra seized power." She gripped the bottom edge of the fallen shelf and heaved it upright as easily as if she were picking azpha. "There is unregistered weaponry on your right, plans to unleash an ancient war god on your left, and daevic knowledge to your front, back, and underfoot. How could _anything_ in this whole room possibly be legal?"

He pushed himself to his feet quickly, looking extremely relieved and a tad embarrassed. The metal chains draped between his ankles clanked softly as the links bumped into each other.

"My bad," he muttered. Tiny flecks of dust drifted of his robes as he brushed himself off. "Thank you for ah-freeing me."

"You can't train very well from underneath a bookshelf."

He paused, blinking. "What exactly am I training for again?"

"Fighting. What else?"

His unimpressed glare (so he _was_ possible of such a thing!) prompted her to elaborate. "It has a lot to do with a lot of things that you don't know," she said, again with no shortage of annoyance, "For now, just understand that there is something outside that I need, and require the help of you and a few others to obtain. I, myself, am a heretic of the highest order and Beritra would have my head if I so much as cast a firebolt outside of this library. Does that satisfy you?"

"Not really-oof!" He was nearly knocked off balance as Mina stuffed a thick, cloth bound volume into his unexpecting hands. He avoided dropping it on reflex alone. He turned it over in his hands, running his palm over the fabric.

"What's this?" He tore his eyes away from the intricate cover to fix her with a questioning look. She watched him closely, wondering if she had made the right decision.

"It's your new textbook. I translated it from ancient Asmodian myself." She reached out and tapped the spine with a chipped claw. "You will study this book until you can draw every diagram from memory and understand every concept inside out, backwards, and forwards. Books are weapons. Like the sword, in order to use it properly it must become an extension of yourself." She pushed the book back into his arms, leaving no room for argument. "This is only a fifth level tome, so it shouldn't take long to master. Alchetopin is going to supervise you and make sure you don't escape or collapse any tunnels. You can practice in the corridor," she pointed to the dark doorway he had spotted earlier. "Take a lantern. And you might want to do something about your forehead; you look like you ran into a wall."

He nodded distantly, feeling the yellowed edges of its pages slowly. His hands settled correctly into place on either cover. Mesmerized, he tipped it open to the first page. The expression on his face went from intrigued to completely blank.

"Er, Mina-," he started haltingly, then cleared his throat and raised his voice slightly. "Mina, I can't read."

"What?" For a moment, she didn't think she had heard him right. She couldn't stop herself from gaping at him in disbelief. She hadn't wiped him _that_ thoroughly, had she? He should have been at least left with his basic skills and essentials, reading among them.

"I can't read," he repeated.

"That's nonsense," she said matter-of-factly, trying to hide her surprise. "Of course you can read."

A mage that couldn't read was about as good as a ranger with only one arm. Once again, she painfully remembered how much her world had changed since she had been forced into hiding. Of course, it had been hundreds of years that the balaur had been frowning upon literacy in the masses, but seeing the effects of their tyranny living and breathing in her own library still sent her blood boiling.

Ath's blue eyes roved over the pages in confusion before he closed the book hopelessly. "It's no good. I'm sorry."

Unless…

It didn't take her long to gather several books, each in a different language, into a stack for him. She hadn't considered it at first, but was possible that his original language of study hadn't been the one she had assumed it was. While the spoken word among the New Dragonbound was a mostly cohesive mix-mash of ancient Asmodian and Balic, the written word had a tendency to vary between Balic, Asmodian, and even Elysean characters. He could easily have learned a different alphabet. If he hadn't, and truly was illiterate, she had a very large problem on her hands.

"Here."

She deposited the books into his arms, each one thicker than the last. She smiled innocently as he staggered under their weight. He looked mildly overwhelmed, to say the least.

"I can't read so you give me more?" He nearly went cross-eyed trying to balance the books under his chin. He narrowly avoided toppling over. "Sorry, but that doesn't really make a lot of sen-,"

"Try them," she said, cutting him off without the slightest hint of remorse. "Tell me if you can read any of them."

He still looked unsure, so she dropped another book on him for good measure. He probably didn't _need_ an anthology of krallic nursery chants, but getting to watch the way his eyes bugged out was more than enough reason to satisfy her.

He was also, she noted smugly, sufficiently stunned into silence. She used the window of opportunity to hastily make her escape before he could think to ask any troublesome questions. She would indulge him with her full plans for him in due time. Until then, he could wait.

No matter how desperate for warriors she was, if he ever showed the slightest indication of being untrustworthy, she would have no choice but to silence him. Bringing him to the library had been reckless enough as it was.

Though, she thought with a wry smile, lately such recklessness hadn't been so unusual. She was losing her edge.

As soon as she was out of his line of sight, her face collapsed and her shoulders sank. A tired hand pressed to her forehead. There was still so much to do. Athiar was just the beginning.

A deafening bang snapped through the library, followed by Ath's hasty string of apologies. She groaned.

It was going to be a long week.

* * *

Mynlae found Tael slouching with her back against a cluster of large, icy boulders. She stared into the distance with a cool, blank expression, but Mynlae felt the scout's aether spike with anticipation as she drew closer.

"I've been freezin' here and I've been kind of sheltered. How're you still alive after standing out there so long?" Tael half-rolled her eyes, arms crossed tightly against her chest. "S'not fair, that's what it is. You must have ettin blood running through your veins or something."

Mynlae found a spot beside her that was, for the most part, free of excessive snow. Though it wasn't as warm as the campsite where Iskar and Faelar were huddled, the shelter provided by the boulders was nice, and felt positively toasty compared to the conditions out on the lake.

"I wear as much clothing as I can." She gestured to Tael's rather revealing attire, shrugging the blanket off her shoulders and offering it to her. "You can move a little faster in that, but you're in much more danger from the cold. You should think about changing into something less naked when you have the chance."

Tael chuckled, easily brushing off Mynlae's well-meant suggestion. "What's the fun in that? 'Sides, I don't actually think I'm gonna freeze, you know. I can take a little chill here and there."

Mynlae shrugged. "If you say so. You needed me?"

"Right," Tael said, procuring an unfilled potion vial from her cube and holding it up to the light. "What do you make of this?"

Mynlae took hold of the glass carefully. Crimson smudges on the inside of glass remained as evidence of a half-hearted attempt to clean it of its original contents. From the color, she could tell that it had been a healing potion of some kind, and an expensive one at that. Already, the glass was foggy, and as she moved to uncork the bottle, Tael's hand roughly snatched it back.

"Hey!" Tael snapped. "There's stuff in here. It's not exactly replaceable if you lose it, y'know?" She smiled, the sweetness contrasting with her sudden protectiveness. She offered the bottle once again, and Mynlae accepted it hesitantly. This time, the warrior held it up to eye level to examine the contents. Sure enough, fine red hair clippings lay coiled at the bottom.

Tael clapped a hand on her shoulder. "I need you to see if you can find something similar in the aether. Just like how this feels. If you can pin down a spot where the aether feels the same, I bet you we could find him."

Mynlae's blood froze.

"How did you know about that," she asked, fighting to keep her composure while her every instinct told her to bolt. Practicing anything that had to do with the aether was forbidden. Tael wasn't supposed to know she had the ability to read it, let alone sense it enough to make out its intricacies and irregularities.

Actually, when she thought of it, Tael knew a lot of things that she wasn't supposed to. Mynlae's hands flew up to grasp the hilt of her greatsword, and in moments it was at ready, prepared to eviscerate the scout at the slightest movement.

Tael tossed her hair over her shoulder, unintimidated. She didn't even bother to step out of range. "If you know what to look for, you're pretty easy to spot. Even though you're just a human, subtle isn't exactly the name of your game, if you know what I'm saying."

Mynlae's hands trembled. Tael was acting completely confident-and she had seen the girl's skill. When it came to combat, Mynlae knew her limits. In a fair fight, she would lose.

"I don't know what you're saying," she ground out. "I'll report you."

Tael laughed. "Sure you do. I'm a scout, Mynlae, and I'm a very good one. I've gotta be perceptive, or I'd be long gone by now. I'm not trying to make trouble-I'm trusting you, y'see?"

She waved the vial in the air. Somehow, she'd gotten it back, and Mynlae hadn't even noticed that the object had changed hands again.

"If you turn me in, scout," Mynlae warned dangerously, "Faelar will suffer as much as I will. I'll kill you before I let that happen."

Another snort. "What did I just tell you? You think I care about your kid? This is just about you, and me, both getting what we want. 'Sides, I can't turn you in, for the very same reason you can't turn me in. That's why I trust you."

She groaned internally. Tael was right-even if she'd wanted to report her, getting too close to the balaur was suicide for someone like herself.

"In fact," Tael continued, "Had I possessed the ability to observe the aether like you do, I'd be more worried about Iskar or your little friend. They've got a lot less to hide than me."

"Faelar and Iskar are not the one concerning me now."

"Right," she said, tossing the vial into the air and catching it deftly. "I am." She studied the bottle for a moment, rolling the neck between her fingers. "See, if I'd had even the slightest intention to turn you in, we'd be at an impasse. You can't tell my secrets without revealing yours, I can't tell your secrets without revealing mine. I'd think we could help each other out a little bit, since we're both after the same thing."

Mynlae made no move to raise her sword, but she made no move to drop it, either. "And what's that?"

Tael smirked almost childishly, shooting Mynlae a sly look and pitching her voice in a ridiculous sing-song. "The Booook-keeper."

Mynlae lunged with her sword. Tael danced out of the way with nary a hair out of place. "Don't kill me now," she giggled. "I'm just trying to help out. It's not like I'm reading your mind or anything; if you weren't looking for the bookkeeper, you wouldn't have had any interest in Ath. Because let's be honest, that enchantment she'd stuck on him was just about the only interesting thing about him. Lucky for you, I've got a few loose ends with Books to tie up myself, get it?"

She said this all while dodging Mynlae's strikes without so much as a hitch in her voice. Mynlae froze in mid-swing. "The Bookkeeper is real?"

For a moment, Tael looked like she had swallowed a fish. Then she doubled over in an explosion of laughter, hysterics shaking her shoulders.

"Oh, that's rich! You didn't even know if she was real? I mean, Iskar was easier to play than a dartboard, but you? You're not even that desperate!"

"You know nothing!" Mynlae roared, aiming another swing at Tael's head. She ducked easily.

"Maybe I don't. But Books is real, I can tell you that much. We go way back. I've been searching casually for a while, but-" she ducked another strike, "-never got close enough to pin down a location. The 'Keeper's pretty good at hiding. If you'd stop slicing at me for a second, I can tell you how we're gonna find her."

Mynlae halted her next attack, shoulders heaving. The sword trembled in her grip, the tip dipping towards the ground. "The Bookkeeper's a her?"

"Well," Tael flipped her hair again, the pink mass bouncing elegantly over her shoulder. "Yeah. Last I saw, at least. I dunno. People change." She shrugged. "Now, if you're done trying to dice me, could you please have a look at this vial?"

The scout held the glass in the air again. Mynlae sheathed her sword reluctantly. "What am I supposed to do with this?" she asked. "I'm not a piece of technology, Tael. If I could have just scanned around for him, I would have."

"It's a bit more complicated than that," Tael said, tucking a loose piece of hair back through the bobble. "See, under normal circumstances, there would have been too much noise. Like looking for a needle in a haystack, right?"

Mynlae frowned. "Are you saying it's different now?"

"Not exactly. Like I said, Books is real good at hiding. That means she probably has a dampening field up to make her aether invisible to the outside. Something like that would look completely empty."

Mynlae began to argue, but Tael interrupted her again.

"There are lots of aetherless places, you say. In fact, more than three quarters of the planet is completely dry." She tossed the bottle to the warrior, who caught it clumsily. "Her spot's different. The field was disturbed, which means there had to be a crack. Something from the outside went in, which means that some aether from the inside came out. Make sense?"

"Not really."

Tael counted the arrows in her quiver, casually drawing one and testing the tip. "I'm saying that her hideout's impossible to find unless you: one, know what you're looking for, and two, have the abilities to actually find it. She's stayed hidden from me, Beritra, the New Dragonbound, Beritra, about a dozen other searchers, Reshki, and not to mention Beritra for a long, long, long time. That doesn't happen on accident, you know." She pointed to the bottle. "That's your key to finding her. I bet you could do it."

Mynlae sighed. "You're not making any sense, Tael. I can't do what you're asking-I don't even understand what you're saying."

Tael nocked the arrow with a shrug. "You were born in the wrong century, gorgeous. You shoulda been an aetheric field protector."

"What?"

Tael raised her bow, drawing the arrow and aiming into the storm. "Doesn't matter. You can find them; just trust me, kay? I know what I'm doing."

Tael let the arrow fly. To Mynlae's shock, a yelp rang out from the blinding snowfall as the arrow found its target. An unpleasant smirk formed on Tael's face. "Unlike that guy."

She whirled and strutted into the blizzard, following the arrow's path. Mynlae trailed after her, sword unsheathed and at ready. A leather-clad man knelt in the snow, clutching at his leg. Snow covered nearly every inch of his body. Snatches of loud cursing cut through the wind. He looked up, when they neared, green eyes narrowed in rage.

"I knew I'd find you, bitch," he ground through clenched teeth.

Tael chuckled, sparing his bow, which lay discarded in the snow beside him, a fleeting glance before crushing it beneath her heel. The wood splintered.

"Good to see you too, Valik."


End file.
